Tales of the Wanderer, Book 2: Wandering Ace
by Star Ranger
Summary: Despite his feelings for Patricia Haruna, the Wanderer must leave the Sailor Moon universe, and winds up aboard the SDF-1.
1. Insertion!

Tales of the wanderer: Wandering Ace: Episode 1: Insertion!  
  
Micheal Thunders looked at the receding Tokyo skyline in his rear- view mirror and sighed. He had promised to leave, but he really didn't want to. I will come back to you, Patricia. That I promise, he vowed to himself, as a soft sigh escaped his lips.  
  
"You're going to miss her, aren't you," FRED, the artificial intelligence that was his one constant in his travels, noted. Without him, though, Micheal could never have found Patricia, as it was Fred who made creating a stable portal possible.  
  
"More than you know, FRED. More than you know." The unexpected had happened when he had been brought to this fica. He had fallen in love with one of the residents, a teacher by the name of Patricia Haruna. But the local guardian of time and destiny had forced him to move on, noting that his presence would disrupt things that were yet to come. So, once again he found himself leaving friends behind to face the unknown.  
  
"But what about Jedi? I thought the whole reason behind this quest was to get back to her. I mean, are we still trying to get back to where you started from or what?" Fred continued.  
  
"Yes, and no, FRED. We are going to find our way back, but only to make sure Jedi is OK. Then we make our way back here, got it?" Micheal had been thrown from his home fica by and exploding piece of teleportation equipment gone awry. Jedi was a young female superhero from his home fica for whom he had cared a great deal, though he had found true love in Patricia Haruna. Since he could not remain with Patricia for some time yet, he had decided to continue his self appointed quest to find his way back and check on Jedi.  
  
"Riiiight." Fred's tone conveyed a distinct lack of conviction. "Anyway, I'm still getting a bit of interference on some of the portal sensors. Probably an after effect of blowing up Tinkerer's toys. I should be able to compensate for them by the time we're ready to jump, though. By the way, we want this next exit."  
  
The large Black High Mobility Multi Wheeled Vehicle, commonly known as a Hummer, braked stiffly and then slid through a gap barely longer than itself and over onto the off-ramp. "A little more warning next time would be nice, FRED," Micheal growled, then suddenly cut off as he tried in vain to get a second look at a roadside sign. "Wait a sec. I thought that sign said something about a Self Defense Force airbase!"  
  
"Probably, cause that's where we're headed," FRED replied nonchalantly.  
  
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR METALLIC MIND???" Micheal shouted in astonishment, slamming on the brakes and pulling off onto the shoulder. "What sort of weird logic makes you think that's the place to stage a portal run, Baka???"  
  
"Its the closest place with a large flat paved area one can be reasonably sure will be clear. We blow through the checkpoint, get on a taxiway, and are up to 88 and gone before they figure out what happened. Trust me on this." Their arrival in this fica had occurred on a busy highway, and the blinding light that was a side effect of the portal equipment had caused a major accident. Micheal had decided that he didn't want a repeat of such an incident when they left. In addition to this was the fact that most of the roads were either too crowded or too filled with turns to allow the vehicle to get up to the minimum speed to penetrate the portal before it collapsed.  
  
"Riiiight." This time it was Micheal's turn to sound unconvinced.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Mother, Vermilion 23, flight of two. Sweep complete, requesting RTB," Maximillian Sterling reported into his radio after giving the sky one last visual sweep. Like his flying, Max's official radio discipline was perfect, giving just the pertinent information: who he was calling, who he was, and what he had to say.  
  
"Vermilion 23, Mother. Affirmative on the RTB. Steer heading 165 degrees and descend to Angels 20. Be advised you have inbound traffic at your 1 o clock, 20 miles, angels 15, 200 knots." the air traffic controller on the SDF-1 replied.  
  
"Vermilion 23, leaving angels 25 for angels 20," Max acknowledged, easing his Veritech into a slow descending turn to keep things simple for his wingman, Ben Dixon. "Mother, Vermilion 23, Radar contact on the traffic. Angels 15, 1 o clock, 15 miles. Requesting permission to join up for visual inspection," he reported as the pair of transforming fighters rolled out onto their new heading and their radar acquired the inbound traffic.  
  
The flight controller chuckled into her microphone at the request. During their long fight back to earth, visual inspection of contacts was unnecessary. If it wasn't a Veritech, it was the enemy. Still, the request was within Max's responsibilities as a patrol leader. "Roger, Vermilion 23. Traffic is on button two, call sign Minmei Special, Join up visually." she replied.  
  
"Vermilion 23, Leaving angels 20 for angels 15, off frequency for button two," Max replied in his calm unruffled voice as the two fighters continued to descend. The two fighters entered a second slow turn that brought them around behind the contact and then extended their airbrakes to slow down for rendezvous. The contact was a small red turboprop with yellow trim and a cowled rear pusher fan. Remembering the day's duty roster, Max realized who the pilot was. Instead of calling on the radio, Max flashed the running lights of his Veritech and the two fighters separated and slid up one on each side until the three planes were only about 20 feet from each other. The practical joking side of Max's personality was trying to best decide how to let his boss know he had snuck up on him when Ben broke radio silence, and the surprise.  
  
"Veritech Patrol to Minmei Special. Hey, Lieutenant! It's Ben and Max!" the burly wingman called over the radio.  
  
"Huh?" came the confused reply from their boss, Lieutenant Rick Hunter. Max saw him turn his head towards him and gave his team leader a jaunty wave.  
  
"We hear you have a VIP aboard," Ben continued good-naturedly.  
  
"Some guys have all the luck," Max added, not being able to pass up the chance to give his boss a good-natured ribbing before switching back to the main controller channel. "Mother, Vermilion 23. Contact checks out. Returning to base course."  
  
"We're returning to base; have a nice date!" Ben suggested good naturedly as he followed Max up and out of formation with the fan liner and into a turn to take them back to the SDF-1.  
  
"So long, wise guys," their boss responded as the fan liner disappeared into the distance behind them. "See ya later."  
  
"Back to button one, Ben" Max informed his wingman. "Let's get these birds back on the boat."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Emergency sirens blew and red rotating lights flashed all over the alerted base as the black Hummer skidded around the corner between the two hangers and fishtailed slightly as it screamed down the flight line. Right behind it, two olive drab jeeps skidded around the same corner in hot pursuit; the MP's in the back holding on during the turn. Once the concern of being thrown from the back was past, they again opened fire on the black intruder. Their M-16's gave off strings of short pops, causing sparks to fly from the pavement near the Humvee's tires.  
  
Micheal swore out loud and started swerving the vehicle back and forth to try and present a harder target to hit. "FRED, we need to get out of here. NOW!!!"  
  
"Umm. I'm still having problems with the distortions. I can't get a clean fix. I have three possibles, but I can't be certain of them." Fred replied in a timid tone.  
  
"AWW CRUD!!! You said we would be in and gone before anyone noticed! News flash. THE'VE NOTICED! Just pick one, we need to jump right now!" Micheal retorted angrily.  
  
Ahead of them, a M2A2 Bradley armored personnel carrier pulled out from between two buildings, its 25mm cannon training in their direction. Micheal skidded the Hummer through a tight left turn, while the whine of the ricochets caused base personell to dive for solid cover as the vehicles tore by.  
  
"We're going parallel to the flight line now, Boss. If we take a left at the end of this road, we'll have the whole length of the flight line to run up to speed," Fred Reported.  
  
"Right. Lock in whatever co-ords you have and get ready to spin up the portal generator as soon as we straighten out."  
  
Ahead of them, a duce and a half truck appeared from behind a hanger and screeched to a stop, MP's jumping out even before the truck had finished braking. Micheal took one look at the narrow gap between the rear of the truck and the building and stomped heavily on the brakes. MP's scattered like leaves on a windy day as the Hummer decelerated violently, then slid smoothly through the gap between truck and building thanks to its lower speed. This allowed the two jeeps in pursuit to close the distance between them before they too were forced to slow down to shoot the gap.  
  
The Hummer skidded around the corner onto the flight line, hitting a patch of grease and fishtailing wildly, loosing precious speed as Micheal struggled to keep from loosing control and get the big black beast pointing down the flight line.  
  
"Portal Generator coming on line," FRED reported, and Micheal stopped swerving back and forth and accelerated up to 88. Flight-line personell stopped what they were doing and watched the scene unfolding before them. Up ahead, the Bradley AFV pulled out from between two planes and stopped right in their path. Micheal gauged the distance between them and hoped it would be enough. The rear doors opened on the APC and solders scrambled out, thinking a collision was eminent, but the vehicle commander remained aboard and the turreted 25mm cannon began tracking the approaching intruder.  
  
Behind them, the two jeeps full of MP's swerved aside, braking wildly to keep from becoming part of said collision. The 25mm cannon on the APC never opened fire, as the black HMMWV ran into it broadsides and everything was obscured in a flash of brilliant white light. When the light died and everyone was able to see again, there was no sign of the intruder, and the APC was missing most of the barrel of its cannon.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Max goosed the throttles gently and followed the plane handler's directions as he taxied off the elevator into the hanger deck of Prometheus. The large enclosed space was a hive of purposeful chaos, as the maintenance crews took advantage of the respite form combat the return to earth had given them to get the Veritechs back into top condition. A bright flash to his right prompted him to slam on his brakes.  
  
"HEY! Watch it!" Ben complained as he too stopped short to keep the two planes from colliding. "Holy." his complaints suddenly stopped as he caught sight of the cause of the problem. From the white flash a large black vehicle of a strange design had emerged, traveling at a high speed. Max's reaction in stopping short had been the correct one, as the vehicle swerved slightly and flashed by the nose of his Veritech with scant inches of clearance. Aircrewmen dove for cover as the strange vehicle screamed down the bay, swerving to try and avoid assorted obstacles and fishtailing wildly. An abandoned tow cart proved to be too much, as the strange vehicle was unable to get around it, its right front tire striking the trailing tow bar and vaulting it into the air. The airborne vehicle pinwheeled wildly before slamming back down on the deck and sliding a few more meters to a stop with a metallic screech. "Hey! Wait up, Max!" the burly pilot shouted, realizing that his flight leader had abandoned his plane and was running across the now eerily silent hanger deck towards the wreck. Ben too abandoned his Veritech where it sat and followed his compatriot down the length of the hanger deck.  
  
Ben grabbed a fire extinguisher bottle from the tow cart as he passed, and trotted up to the wreck. The black vehicle had come to rest on its left side, but the force of the collision had spun the vehicle around so that it was pointed aft, at the corridor that lead to Macross city. Aware of the fire risk, he gave the underside of the wreck a once over for leaking fuel. Most of the underbody was covered in a black metallic sheet, with only the drive shafts and suspension visible. Despite the violence of the collision, the only visible damage was the missing right front wheel, which had been torn completely from the vehicle. Max was already up on the top of the wreck, struggling with the right side door.  
  
"Someone get the medics," Max shouted as Ben put down the fire extinguisher and climbed up to help. "We have a wounded man in here! Ben, hold this door open, willya?" As the larger of the pair held the door open against the pull of gravity, Max dropped down into the wreck, landing behind the injured driver on what would be the back seat window if the wreck was right side up. The clear material bonged at the impact, but did not break. The driver lay limply on his side, against the driver's side door and now even Ben could see the small pool of blood forming next to the unconscious man's head.  
  
Max gave the stranger a quick once over. Whoever this driver was seemed human, and had been thrown against the driver's side door by the crash despite his seat belts. The stranger was unconscious, with red hair about the same length as his own and a very full red mustache. He wore a blue nylon shirt with large red flowers on it and black slacks. Over it all was a long black coat similar to the raincoats that were uniform issue for the RDF, not that one needed to worry about rain inside the massive SDF- 1. Red blood dampened the hair on the left side of the stranger's head and was starting to pool. Hearing the sirens of the Crash response teams approaching, he wisely decided to let the professionals move the victim. Ben reached down and took Max's outstretched hand and lifted him out of the interior of the wreck.  
  
"Your patient is in there," Max informed the head paramedic as the two pilots jumped down off the wreck. "Caucasian male, age 21 plus. Looks like he was slammed against the driver's side door during the crash. Definite head wound, so I didn't try and move him to check for anything else."  
  
"Uhuh. Right, sure," the head paramedic observed, unconvinced. "Murphy, Jones, check these two out and make sure their ok. Davies, Bibat, lets see if there are any other victims."  
  
By the time Max and Ben had convinced the paramedics that they weren't hurt a jeep full of Military Police had arrived. Suddenly the crowd that had started to gather around the wreck dispersed, going back to their tasks rather than wishing to deal with them. The MP's set up a cordon around the wreck, and the sergeant in charge of the unit walked over to Ben and Max.  
  
"I take it you two saw what happened?" the burly MP inquired. The two pilots nodded in silent acknowledgment. "You two come with me then, and lets get your statements taken down," the MP declared, indicating his jeep with a jerk of his head.  
  
"So much for lunch," Ben sighed wistfully, as the fact that the questions would probably go on for quite some time sunk in.  
  
"Think of it as a favor," the MP replied with a wicked smile as the two pilots climbed into the jeep. "The commissary is serving SOS. Again."  
  
"But I like chipped beef!" Ben replied innocently, causing the MP to shudder at that thought before starting the jeep.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Ben Dixon sighed and shifted in his chair impatiently as the two pilots waited for the return of the accident investigator. He eyed the half a sandwich sitting on Max's plate and elbowed his fellow pilot gently. "Hey Max, you gonna finish that sandwich?"  
  
Max didn't answer, only pushed the plate in question over to Ben absentmindedly. Ben devoured the sandwich half in three largish bites before realizing that something was amiss. He looked over at Max, who was peering off into space in what pilots called the thousand-yard stare. Ben had to resort to snapping his fingers in front of his friends eyes a couple of times to get his attention. "Hey Max! You OK?"  
  
Max blinked for a moment before looking over at Ben. "Yeah. It's just this whole thing has been so weird. One minute the MP's are acting like we're responsible, and the next they're falling all over us to be nice. That car that wrecked on the hanger deck looked military, but it wasnt anything I've seen before. And the guy in it wasnt wearing a uniform either."  
  
"That's enough speculation, flyboy," noted the MP, who had returned to the interrogation room unnoticed. "I've just gotten word from on high. You two are free to go. In fact, you've been removed from the duty roster for the rest of the day." The MP held up a hand in warning as he continued. "However, this whole incident has now been classified most secret. If anyone asks, you two didn't see ANYTHING. Period. You two talk about this to ANYONE and your gonna be enjoying an extended vacation in the brig. Got it?"  
  
"Yessir!" the two pilot chorused as they made their way to the door.  
  
"Don't call me sir! I work for a living!" the MP snarled the traditional response to the pilot's retreating backs.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia Grant ducked through the hatch to the bridge of the SDF-1 with the ease of long practice. Through the large viewport, the gentle waters of the South Pacific Ocean shimmered a deep azure blue. Already at their stations were the 'Terrible Trio' of Kim, Sammie, and Vanessa. A brief frown crossed her chocolate complexion as she regarded the temporarily empty First Officer's station. She wouldn't have admitted it publicly, but deep inside she would feel a lot better when Captain Gloval, and her friend and first officer Lisa Hayes were back from delivering their report to the UDEC council at Alaska Base. Regardless, until they did, she still had her own job to do.  
  
As she relieved her counterpart as officer of the watch, she noted that Colonel Maistroff was also not on the bridge. This she considered to be slightly unusual after his excitement at being left in command the day before. She filed it in the back of her mind for a moment as she worked down her list of things that she needed to check on after assuming the bridge watch. With the SDF-1 back on earth after a two year running battle with the Zentraedi, the list was much shorter than it often was. The remaining items were most important though, as they dealt with the frantic efforts of the crew to get the several kilometer long ship ready to take the fight back to the enemy.  
  
It was an item at the end of her list that brought her attention back to that fact with a vengeance. Even with the mostly volunteer nature of the Robotech Defense Forces, in a crew of several thousand, plus over 50 thousand unexpected civilian passengers, there were always a few malcontents. So the final entry was always an updated list from the military police detailing what infractions had occurred the previous day. In one respect, the fold operation that had dropped the SDF-1 near the orbit of Pluto had been a blessing, forcing even the worst of the crew to realize that it was do their jobs to the best of their ability or possibly never get home. Discipline was tight, and there had been precious few incidents over the previous two years. There had been a celebration thrown for the residents of Macross City on the Daedalus yesterday though, and apparently quite a few people, both in the RDF and not had used it as an excuse to overindulge. What caught her attention was a one-line notation that emergency crews had been dispatched to the Prometheus during that time, with no follow up report filed.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, she was no wiser, and much more frustrated. Repeated inquiries to the MP's were being stonewalled, and all the ambulance crews knew was that a man had been pulled from a wrecked jeep and taken to the hospital. No one at the hospital claimed any such admittance, though. She was convinced something was going on and woe betide anyone who got in her way. Frankly, she thought she detected Colonel Maistroff's hand in this, and sincerely desired to get it cleared up before Captain Gloval returned.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Any ship as large as the SDF-1 possessed a sick bay. In fact, the original medical faculties of the SDF-1 were quite modern, equivalent to a small hospital in its own right. However, after the space fold accident and the needs of the resultant influx of Macross City's fifty thousand odd refugees, most of the ships medical staff and equipment had been moved into the reconstructed Macross General Hospital. Since then, the original sick bay had become little more than a glorified aid station, providing first aid for the engineering staff rather than forcing them to travel all the way to the facilities in Macross City, or provided overflow beds when casualties were heavy. Thus it was that few noticed the two MP's guarding the Intensive Care Unit, and given the frantic pace of the engineering crews, all sadly overworked trying to perform a job that for any other ship would be provided by a major shipyard, none of them cared.  
  
Inside, a lone occupant lay in a near coma, monitored by a handful of personnel hand picked by Colonel Maistroff for their discretion. His head was bandaged, a faint red stain visible on his right temple through the gauss. His face was pale beneath his faint tan, and the stranger lay still and unmoving, his mind drifting in delirium.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
For the first time in years, Micheal was free. Free of the curse of being Star Ranger, free of wandering hopelessly across space and time. He climbed into the cockpit of his waiting A-12 Thunderhawk, and smiled at the picture wedged between the altimeter and the Airspeed indicator. 'Just one last mission, My love. Then we can be together forever,' he promised himself. A smiling red headed woman gazed back at him from the picture, which was signed 'Come back safe, Jedi' (1). Something in the back of his mind stirred and tried to claim this was all wrong, but Micheal ruthlessly suppressed it. He had one last mission to fly, and he had no intention of letting anything distract him from it. That was how pilots wound up with a terminal case of hill disease (2), after all.  
  
He checked the map folded into his kneeboard one last time as the canopy lowered and the two large turbofans spooled up. It was the sort of mission the high command saved for pilots like him. Three mobile scud launchers surrounded by a ring of SA-5 launchers and triple A nestled in a shallow valley just off the Basra road. The valley was deep enough that a normal attack would be vulnerable to fire from the SA-5's, and the Nighthawks had other, higher priority targets tonight. Muck had taken a look at the intel from the sight and pointed out a way, and was rewarded with being the one assigned to take them out.  
  
'Just another walk in the dark,' he thought to himself as the Thunderhawk rolled down the runway and lifted off into the dark dessert night.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
'Ung' was Fred's first real thought after the accident. Although rough terrain was part of the design specifications he had been built to, the collision with the tow cart had definitely exceeded it. A quick check of most of the most critical systems confirmed what he had expected. The force of the collision had knocked everything off line. Secondary systems had performed as expected, but the force of the crash had taken the main reactor off line, and it had taken almost 24 hours the secondary systems to bring things back on line to the point where he could re-boot himself.  
  
He wasn't sure if Micheal would be nearby or not, so he opened up their private communications channel, only to receive no answer. A few seconds of checking yielded the answer to his concerns. His communications equipment was operational, but wherever it was he was at the moment, he seemed to be unable to transmit or receive transmissions in the radio spectrum. He checked the other sensors he was equipped with, and noted that the more esoteric ones, the ones he used to compute the co-ordinates for a portal jump were still off line, but he suspected that it was just because a connector had come loose in the crash. Looking out through other sensors showed him he was in some sort of laboratory or garage, with heavy metal walls. A drive systems check revealed the right front wheel assembly was absent, presumably torn from its mountings in the crash. Until it was replaced, FRED wasn't going to be going anywhere.  
  
With no way of getting a hold of Micheal, nor anyway of being able to go search for him, Fred did the only thing he could. With the patience of a machine, he made what repairs he could to his internal systems, and waited.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck grinned behind the cool rubber of his facemask as the plane raced up the shallow valley leading to the Scud site, staying below the tops of the hills and thus undetected by any radar in the area. These were the sort of missions he did best, and only the new Thunderhawks could carry it off. Outwardly, it looked like the venerable A-10 Thunderbolt, but inside it contained all new top of the line Avionics, including a fly by wire system and a Heads up display that was the largest ever mounted in a military aircraft. Three Slam missiles hung under each wing, already programmed with the location of the SA-5 launchers, would be launched automatically by the bombing computer, followed by the cluster bombs for the triple A. This left Muck free to concentrate on the real target, the Scud launchers themselves, with the 30mm rotary cannon. Depleted Uranium rounds were overkill against a soft target like this, so Muck had ordered Willie Pete rounds loaded instead. One hit to the fuel of either the scud or the launch vehicle and the white phosphorus rounds would blow them sky high. The Thunderhawk screamed around the last twist in the canyon and lined up on the killing ground.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The quiet of the sickbay ICU was suddenly shattered as several of the monitoring devices hooked to the stranger erupted in a cacophony of pings, beeps, and other alarm tones, galvanizing the attending medical personnel into action. Though unconscious, their patient struggled against his restraints, as though fighting some demon only he could perceive. Convulsions shuddered though is body as the medical team raced over. Suddenly, the patient tore one arm free of the restraints holding him to the bed, snapping the thick material as if it was tissue paper.  
  
"Sedative, NOW!" snapped the chief resident as the staff vainly tried to hold their patient down. He grabbed the flailing arm, only to be thrown against a bulkhead for his troubles. The commotion alerted the two MP's standing guard at the door, causing them to burst through the door with their weapons ready.  
  
"Hold him down," the chief resident snapped to the two MP's as the med nurse quickly filled a syringe and handed it to him. Dropping their weapons, the MP's grabbed the failing arm and held it still while the others held the patient down. The chief resident checked the syringe for air bubbles then paused for a moment in shock. The patients arm seemed to crawl, ripples running up and down its length like water. For a moment it seemed as if the whole arm became metallic, then returned to normal. Timing the ripples, he jabbed the syringe home while the arm was flesh- like, and emptied the syringe into the patient.  
  
The powerful sedative took effect almost instantaneously, the patient going limp. The medical staff took a step back while the chief resident checked the patient's vital signs to confirm that the patient hadn't been sedated to heavily. Satisfied with the readings, he turned to the two MP's. "Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all for now." He then turned to one of the nurses. "Get me Colonel Maistroff. Now."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Micheal cursed as the SAM just kept coming, despite his flares and evasive maneuvers. One of the SA-5 launchers had just been relocated between when the last photos were taken and his attack; ergo the SLAM missile had missed it, allowing it to get off a shot at him as he peeled out of the valley. He threw the Thunderhawk into a final desperate maneuver, standing it on its right wingtip, but the missile was unfazed by it. With the implacability of a machine, it closed the distance and fulfilled its design.  
  
Micheal screamed in agony as the SAM detonated just off his right wingtip, sending shards tearing through him and his jet. Outside, the scenery tumbled as the plane was knocked from flight and began a death spin. He struggled with the controls, then stopped in horror. The instrument panel began to warp before his eyes, bulging, folding, taking on the shape of a face he thought he had escaped forever. The face of his Star Ranger form.  
  
"We have been damaged," that cold metallic voice echoed in his ears. "We must become one again to survive," it declared, metallic psudopods reaching out from all around him, wrapping him in a metal cocoon. Micheal tried to dodge away, but his limbs became heavy, distant. He opened his mouth to scream, but a psudopod lashed out and down his throat, gagging him just before it all went black once more.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia had just finished resuming the watch from her lunch relief when Vanessa delivered the news. "Message from Alaska base, Commander (3)," the young tech reported from her station. "The Captain and Lisa are on their way back. ETA is 1700 local."  
  
"High Command sure took their sweet time about hearing their report," Sammie grumbled. "They should have been back hours ago. I'll feel a lot better about everything when I know when we can get the people of Macross ashore and out of danger."  
  
Claudia gave Sammie 'The LOOK', and the young tech fell silent, but her expression remained defiant. "Contact Colonel Maistroff," Claudia told Vanessa, "He should be down at MP headquarters this time of day. Send him my respects and inform him the captain will be coming back aboard at about 1700." She then turned back to following up on the work in progress aboard the SDF-1, only to be interrupted again a minute or two later by Vanessa.  
  
"Commander. Colonel Maistroff isn't at MP HQ. His Aide thought he might be going down to sickbay, though. Shall I page him?"  
  
Claudia thought for a moment, then waved her relief back over before addressing Vanessa. "No, I think I'll go down to sickbay and deliver the message in Person," she informed Vanessa with an evil glint in her eye.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia observed Colonel Maistroff exit the guarded door to the sickbay's ICU and ducked back around the corner and waited for him. "Ah, there you are, sir", she opened as Colonel Maistroff came into view. "Captain Gloval has left Alaska Base and will be returning aboard at about 1700 hours, sir," she reported with a swift salute.  
  
"Hmm?" stalled a distracted Colonel Maistroff for a moment as the content of the message seeped into his brain. "Oh. That's good to hear, Commander. Carry on," he replied as he returned the salute before continuing on out of sickbay, a very distracted look still upon his face.  
  
'What are you up to, Maistroff?' Claudia wondered to herself as she watched his retreating form. 'I'll bet that whoever it was that was in that accident is in that ICU under guard. But why haven't you reported it yet?' Shaking her head in confusion, Claudia headed back towards the bridge. 'Only one option, I guess. I'll tell the Captain what I've found once he comes back aboard. Maybe he can order some answers out of you.'  
  
  
  
1) For those of you who haven't read the first book of this, That's not really a picture of Jedi. Jedi doesn't have red hair. Patricia Haruna does, though.  
  
2) Hill disease is a pilot term referring to letting one's altimeter register a negative altitude.  
  
3) Yes, I know Claudia's rank is Lieutenant Commander, but in actual usage, it gets shortened to commander, unless your deliberately making a distinction. It's the same thing as a Lieutenant colonel being addressed as Colonel unless his boss is peeved at him.  
  
Couple of notes, some of these are in rebuttal to comments from pre- readers.  
  
4) Carrier hanger decks do have a sprinkler system. The thing is, that's a misnomer. Fire on a carrier is nothing to sneeze at, so those sprinklers have a flow rate of over a hundred gallons a minute. It's more of a deluge system than a sprinkler system. Because of this, it's not something that you turn on lightly. You wouldn't turn this on unless there actually WAS a fire. and there wasn't one here.  
  
5) Someone commented on the long delay of the paramedics. If you think about it, from what I've described here, it wasn't that long. 2-3 minutes tops. I assumed a couple of things. First was that most of the medical personell were over on the Daedalus, at the big party we see there. The paramedics that were there for flight ops would be up on the Prometheus's FLIGHT deck, not the hanger deck. It would take them at least a minute or two to get down there, IMO.  
  
To be continued in Chapter 2. 


	2. Reactions

Tales of the Wanderer: Book Two: Wandering Aces: Episode 2: Reactions.  
  
Lieutenant Commander Claudia Grant's smile was warm and genuine as Commander Lisa Hayes and Captain Gloval ducked through the hatch to the bridge, though it faltered a bit at their grim expressions. She couldn't help but wonder at what had happened during the meeting at Alaska base, but at the moment she was more concerned with welcoming her friend and her captain home.  
  
Vanessa, the communications specialist got the first word in, however, with a relayed message. "Captain, CIC reports the Minmei special is on final. They will be aboard in five minutes." This information only increased Gloval's dour expression as he settled into his chair.  
  
"Thank you, Vanessa," Gloval replied. "Now I just have to find a way to break the news to the population of Macross that we can't set them ashore." This grim statement evoked a chorus of gasps from the bridge crew even as Lisa confirmed the bad news.  
  
"The council declared everyone dead after the fold mishap, so we have been ordered to keep everyone aboard indefinitely," she confirmed with a voice that revealed a despair her expression had not.  
  
"But that's not fair!" protested Kim Young, the quartermaster of the watch.  
  
"Yeah! Its like we're prisoners here!" chimed in the impetuous Sammie, and Gloval could only feel his worries deepen. During the past two years in space these five young women had become the team that solved far too many crisis. If they were dismayed at these events, he could only expect a more severe reaction from the citizens of Macross City itself.  
  
As usual, it was Claudia who managed to put things into perspective first. "Orders are orders, even if there are a lot of idiots up at headquarters who have no idea of what they are doing!" she observed.  
  
Lisa couldn't help but nod at this basic summation of military life, but Sammie was not yet ready to relent. "But there must be something you can do, Sir! Please tell us your not going to accept this quietly. You will change their minds, won't you sir?" the young tech pleaded.  
  
"Won't you Captain?" Kim added.  
  
Gloval's face grew even more somber as he dropped into the command voice he used when giving orders that absolutely would be obeyed. "You lack of discipline is only compounding the problem, so get back to your duty stations immediately. I appreciate your concern, but right now I have to begin deciding how to break the news to the surveyors of Macross," he declared, his shoulders stooping slightly as he stood and made his way to the bridge hatch. "You will excuse me."  
  
Even the timid Vanessa felt compelled to try and add something. "But Captain, Cant you." But Gloval cut her off stiffly.  
  
"That will be all, Vanessa," he declared curtly, and the young communications tech bowed her head meekly.  
  
"Yes, sir," she mumbled as the hatch slid open and Gloval stepped through, and paused again.  
  
"Please, try to understand," he asked softly over his shoulder before the hatch slid shut behind him.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Captain Gloval had just gotten his pipe drawing smoothly when the knock came at the door to his quarters. 'Well,' he admitted to himself, 'I was just wondering what else could possibly go wrong, and it looks as if the universe is going to oblige me.'  
  
"Enter", he commanded, not quite surprised when he swung his chair around from his contemplation of the broad view of the Pacific Ocean to see Commander Grant standing there.  
  
"I hate to disturb you with this, sir," she began hesitatingly, her usually cheerful face quite concerned.  
  
"That's quite all right, Claudia. I know you wouldn't unless it was important," Gloval reassured her as he indicated for her to sit down.  
  
"Has Colonel Maistroff said anything to you about an incident on the Prometheus hanger deck?"  
  
"No, he hasn't, why?"  
  
"I'm not sure, Sir. When I took over the watch this morning, I noticed that MP's and paramedics had been dispatched to the Prometheus hanger deck, but there was no follow up reports filed. And there is someone being held in the sickbay under guard, under Maistroff's personal orders."  
  
"Hmmm. Yes, you were correct in bringing this to my attention. Maistroff didn't say anything about this to me when I came back aboard," Gloval agreed as he reached for the phone on his desk. "Communications? This is Captain Gloval. Please contact Colonel Maistroff and have him come to my quarters immediately."  
  
Claudia stood. "Thank you, Sir. I should probably go now, sir."  
  
"No, Claudia. You're the one who brought this to my attention, so its only right that you should find out what it's all about." As she sat back down, Gloval half turned back to the large window that formed one wall of his quarters and took a long draw from his pipe. A deep silence descended over the room for a long moment, before Gloval broke it once more.  
  
"What do you think, Claudia?"  
  
"About what sir?"  
  
"About our orders."  
  
"Disappointed, Sir. We did our best to get them home safely, and now we have to expose them to danger again. But, unless High command changes our orders, we don't have any choice in the matter," Claudia admitted.  
  
"More to the point, do you agree with Sammie and the rest that I should try to get them off anyway, Commander." Gloval pressed.  
  
"I would feel better if we didn't have to take them back into space with us, Sir. Our oath was to defend the people of Earth, not endanger them."  
  
The conversation was cut short by the hatch opening and Colonel Maistroff entered. He glowered briefly at the presence of Lt. Commander Grant, then focused his attention on the Captain. "You asked to see me, sir."  
  
"Yes, I did. Commander Grant was kind enough to inform me there was an incident of some kind on the Prometheus while I was away. Since you were the Command Duty Officer at the time, I thought it would be best to hear about it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak." Claudia managed to hide a grin at the tone of the captain's voice. She'd heard that calm and reasonable tone before. right before the captain dropped the hammer on some poor soul at Captain's Mast.  
  
Colonel Maistroff paled slightly, but quickly composed himself. "Yes sir. I didn't mention it because we still don't know that much about it. I was waiting until I had all the pieces before telling you, sir."  
  
"Of Course," Gloval replied, his tone now about as warm as a Siberian blizzard, "And of course you never had any intention of using that information to undermine my authority." The threat in his voice was implicit. Such actions could, in wartime, be considered Mutiny, and under wartime conditions it was a capitol offense. Maistroff blanched, even as Gloval continued in a slightly warmer tone. "But, since it has come to my attention, why don't you tell me what we do know."  
  
"Yes sir," Maistroff replied as he struggled to regain his composure. "Basically, at about 1545 two days ago, we captured what I believe to be an enemy agent. He set off some sort of flash device and attempted to escape along the length of the Prometheus Hanger deck in an antique four- wheel drive vehicle. In the confusion, he collided with one of the deck vehicles and crashed, sustaining a blow to the head which rendered him unconscious. At that point he was taken into custody. He is presently being held in Sickbay under guard but has not yet regained consciousness."  
  
"I see." The ice had returned to Gloval's voice. "And what was the basis for making this decision, seeing as how the average enemy stands some 50 feet tall?"  
  
"Well sir, his fingerprints don't match those of anyone in the crew or the population of Macross. In addition, he was carrying an outdated form of identification under the name of Micheal Thunders, a legal resident of Japan. Japan has no records of him, but the prints DO match one Commander M. Thunders of then United States, reported KIA during the endgame of Operation Desert Storm at the start of the global civil war, sir."  
  
"So it is your belief that the Zentraedi somehow kidnapped this man over 22 years ago and then somehow inserted him into the SDF-1 without our knowing, even though we have no indication that they even knew where earth was until they first appeared in orbit two years ago. Is that correct, Maistroff? And this wasn't important enough to bring to my attention immediately?" Gloval's eyes were as cold and hard as the tone of his voice. Maistroff found himself automatically drawn to attention by Gloval's demeanor and swallowed nervously before nodding.  
  
"Very well, Colonel. You are to hand over all materials about this incident to Commander Grant immediately. After that, you will return to your quarters and consider yourself on report until such time as Commander Grant's investigation is complete and I decide if your actions were warranted. Is that understood, Colonel?" Maistroff's voice deserted him, forcing him to nod again.  
  
"Dismissed, Colonel." Maistroff swallowed once more before turning and exiting the cabin, still at attention, while Gloval turned his attention back to Claudia. "I apologize if this changes your plans, Commander, but we need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."  
  
"Of course sir. I'll get right on it," Claudia replied as she stood and saluted.  
  
"Have our 'guest' transferred to Macross General as well. I want them to give him a complete going over. At the very least it will prove if he is human."  
  
"Yes sir," she replied and turned to the hatch. Just before she stepped through, Gloval's voice stopped her once more. "And Claudia? Thank you."  
  
Just for what she wasn't sure, but to her that didn't really matter. "Your welcome, sir." As the hatch closed behind her, Gloval was reaching for the phone once more.  
  
"Communications, this is the captain. Please inform Mr. Fortespiel that I will have a ship-wide announcement for him to distribute in about 15 minutes."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Lisa Hayes' stride faltered for a moment as she entered the waiting room of Macross General and saw Lieutenant Sterling and Corporal Dixon already ensconced within. She considered leaving for a moment, but before she could Ben noticed her and waved her over.  
  
"Hi Commander. The doctor just told us that Rick's in the ICU. He's pretty banged up, but they expect him to be ok," the young gregarious flight officer noted. Lisa half mumbled something along the lines of 'that's good' as Ben continued on. "That was pretty spectacular flying he did, too. I don't think anyone else but maybe me an ol' Max here could have pulled it of." Lisa's wan smile faded as the guilt of her being the one responsible welled up again.  
  
It was the more perceptive Max who noticed that and took steps to keep his wingman from sticking his foot so far down his throat he could taste his kneecap. "It's kind of late, Ben, and we need to get back to base. Why don't you go on down and get the jeep and I'll be down in a minute, willya?"  
  
"But the doc." Ben's protest died as he caught the look in Max's eyes. "On it, Max", Ben agreed and headed for the elevator. Max waited until Ben was out of earshot before turning back to Lisa.  
  
"I'm sorry about that, Commander. Ben's good people, but sometimes he just doesn't think," the blue haired pilot observed apologetically.  
  
"It isn't anything worse than I've said to myself," Lisa admitted, caught off guard by Max's candor.  
  
"They were about to let us go in and see him for a moment, Ma'am. Why don't you go instead, and see for yourself. Rick Hunter is a survivor Ma'am. You'll see." Max gave Lisa one of his quirky half smiles before heading to the elevator himself. He paused at the door, and looked back over his shoulder. "And Ma'am, it really was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. Even me." And with that, Max was gone, leaving Lisa alone with her thoughts.  
  
The doors to the elevator dinged just as Max reached them, and disgorged two MP's and an orderly pushing a stretcher holding the guy from the hanger deck the other day. This small gaggle of people was presided over by none other than Lt. Commander Grant herself. Remembering the MP's grizzly warning from the other day, Max quietly stepped out of the way before taking the elevator down to meet Ben.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia was headed back to the elevator on her way back to her quarters when Roy Fokker's voice cut through her thoughts. "Hey there," he greeted her from his spot just inside the waiting room doors. "I had no idea my little brother was so darn popular." Claudia filed her thoughts about Macross's newest addition to the population and smiled at her lover.  
  
"Afraid Rick Hunter is going to steal your reputation as the SDF's biggest heart-throb?" she teased.  
  
Roy's response was to sweep her into a hug. "He can have it, as long as I get to keep you," the tall blonde pilot replied with his quirky smile. "So, how is he?"  
  
"He's in ICU," she replied. "But I'm afraid that's all I know. I'm actually here taking care of something for the Captain."  
  
"OH? Sounds interesting." He replied with a gleeful twinkle in his eyes. "Can you talk about it?"  
  
"Sure I could. But then I'd have to kill you," she replied in a teasing tone that took the two of them back to the heyday of the reconstruction of the SDF-1, when at times security was so tight that statement would have been true. Roy quirked an eyebrow at that, but changed the subject anyway.  
  
"So, you're heading back to your quarters then?" Roy asked, the question of alone or not both unsaid and implicit.  
  
"Not tonight, flyboy. Mama Grant's little girl needs to actually sleep tonight."  
  
"Ah well. I did want to look in on Little Brother before I turned in anyway. Breakfast in the senior officers mess?"  
  
"0700, flyboy." Claudia replied as she slipped from his arms and walked over to the elevator. "Don't be late"  
  
"Yes Ma'am!" Roy smirked as the elevator doors closed between them.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia was already ensconced at 'their' table by the time Roy appeared in the senior officers' mess the next morning. Regardless of what mode the SDF-1 was in, the table next to the expanse of armored glass always had a spectacular view of the surrounding area. From the reports next to her, it was clear to Roy that even if they were having breakfast together, for her, at least, it was going to be a working meal.  
  
"You know, reading does bad things to your brain. it makes you think," he quipped, a line that went back to the early, tempestuous days of their relationship.  
  
"Something you flyboys know nothing about, of course," Claudia replied good-naturedly even as she collected the reports and stuck them in a folder, also recalling that conversation long ago.  
  
"Yup. Stick, throttle, and instinct are all a really good fighter jock needs," Roy finished as he sat down with his tray. He indicated the folder with his chin even as he loaded his fork with food. "Your take poison before reading project, I assume?"  
  
"Uh hmmm," she replied as she sipped at her coffee, before changing the subject. "Any word on Rick's condition?"  
  
"The hospital expects him to come too in a couple of hours. I was going to drive Max and Ben in to see him once he did."  
  
"Isn't Skull the alert squadron this morning?"  
  
"Yup, but I took shameless advantage of my rank and re-arranged the flight schedule. Since Vermilion is so undermanned, I thought I'd take over Rick's spot till he gets back on his feet. And it would probably be a good idea to give Kramer a bit more experience as CO. I expect they'll be tapping him for a squadron of his own once the new class graduates," Roy explained. "Even if he wasn't, I was going to suggest him for the job."  
  
Claudia lifted an eyebrow in confusion, so Roy continued. "We have to do something to help our newer pilots stay alive. Right now a quarter of our new pilots are dead by their fifth mission and another quarter in their tenth. Even if every single eligible person in Macross enlisted, we can't take those sorts of casualties for much longer. So until Dr. Lang is able to get those super Veritechs of his off the drawing boards and into the air, our only other option is to try and give the newbies someone experienced to watch over them. Even if it wasn't, Muck taught me that one of the jobs of any pilot is to nurture the next generation."  
  
"Muck?" Claudia asked as a sense of Déjà vu washed over her.  
  
"Captain Micheal Thunders, my first flight leader. He was KIA during the Iraq Campaign."  
  
"How well do you remember him?"  
  
"Muck? Even when I turn 100 and we're surrounded by our great grand kids I'll still remember him."  
  
"Roy, there's something I'd like you to see."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia thanked the doctor and was putting a copy of the test results in her folder as the door to the guarded room opened and a very shaken Roy Fokker stepped out. A small shake of his head stopped he question before it started, and his eyes indicated the direction of a nearby office.  
  
"Well?" she asked as she closed the door of the office behind them.  
  
"It's him, but it can't be him. Its impossible," Roy replied flatly. "He died almost twenty years ago. I was with the SAR team that found the body, Claudia. I don't know who or what that is in there, but its not the man I few with in Iraq!"  
  
"Maistroff thinks it could be some kind of clone, programmed to act as a spy."  
  
"I suppose it could be, but that's even more impossible. How did they get it aboard? Heck. how were they able to get him to clone? None of this makes sense, Claudia!"  
  
"That is the understatement of the year, Roy. At this point I don't know what to think. Can you think of any way to settle the issue once and for all?"  
  
Their conversation was cut short by a commotion outside. They burst out of the office and saw that the commotion was centered on the subject of their conversation. They followed the nurse in, and what they saw next surprised them to the core.  
  
The prisoner was in the middle of some sort of convulsion or hallucination, thrashing wildly on the bed as the doctor attempted to administer a sedative. That wasn't the odd part, the odd part was that the prisoner seemed to be transforming. sections of his skin seemed to shift between flesh and metal, and at one point Claudia gasped as the prisoners head became that of a battloid. Then the sedative took effect and the prisoner relaxed, becoming a totally normal appearing human once more. Roy led an equally shaken Claudia back to the office they had been using. Even then it was a long moment before Claudia spoke.  
  
"Roy, what could that. that thing possibly be?"  
  
"I don't know. If anyone on board does, though, it would be Doctor Lang." A knock on the office door interrupted them again. "Yes?" snarled a now irritated Roy.  
  
The door opened a crack and a nurse poked her head in, "Um, sorry to interrupt you, Commander, but you wanted us to let you know when Lt. Hunter regained consciousness."  
  
Roy pasted on his best girl killer smile. "That's good to hear. I'll be in to see him in a little while. Thank you."  
  
"Your welcome sir," the young nurse replied before closing the door.  
  
"You'd better go get Max and Ben, Roy," Claudia decided, slowly composing herself. "I'll go see the captain and Dr. Lang."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia looked up as Lisa entered the bridge. Although Claudia had been temporarily removed from the duty roster to pursue her investigation, Captain Gloval had been in a meeting when she had arrived on the bridge, so she had offered to take over for Lisa for a few minutes to allow her friend to visit Lt. Hunter. "So, how IS Lt. Hunter, Lisa?" She asked, then frowned as she caught her friend's downcast expression. "Come on baby; it can't be as bad as all that."  
  
"You're wrong."  
  
Claudia folded her hands to her bosom. "And now the sting of Cupid's arrow strikes home!"  
  
Lisa's mouth dropped open. "WHAT?"  
  
"You needn't be ashamed to talk about it, Lisa. I know what it's like to be in love, y'know. Roy and I started out the same way."  
  
"But you two love each other!"  
  
Claudia set her hands on her hips. "Of course, silly. So, what's the difference?"  
  
Lisa fought down an overwhelming desire to gnaw on her fingertips. "I don't think Rick cares."  
  
Claudia leaned close, slightly exasperated with her friend. "Its very simple, Lisa. If you're in love with him, go after him! You ARE in love with Rick Hunter, aren't you?"  
  
Lisa felt her cheeks redden as she nodded. "What should I do, Claudia?"  
  
"Be a woman! Stop moping and-" she gave Lisa a light cuff on the shoulder. "Smile more often!"  
  
Behind them, the hatch slid open and Captain Gloval stepped onto the bridge. "Lisa, let me know as soon a Logistics has finished loading all supplies."  
  
Lisa felt her blush grow even deeper. "Its already been ordered sir. Commander Grant was just taking a moment to instruct me on some other military procedures while she was waiting for you, sir."  
  
Captain Gloval studied the two women as he stroked his moustache. "Umm. Well, its unlikely we'll need much hand to hand combat expertise up here on the bridge. I hope this means you have something to report, Claudia?"  
  
"Yes I do, sir."  
  
"Very good. I'll be in my cabin if you need me, Lisa."  
  
To be continued in TotW2-3  
  
Authors Notes: Well, not much to say at this point except to note that action fans take heart, I'm not about to try and write a Robotech story that doesn't involve action. Hang in there, things are going to be picking up shortly.  
  
I also want to apologize for the long delay between chapters 1 and 2. That old bugaboo of real life commitments raised its ugly head. Its going to be a while before Chapter 3, though, because I have a couple of other projects I need to finish up as well.  
  
Coming eventually, Chapter 3: Repercussions. 


	3. Reprocussions

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Episode 3: Repercussions  
  
Claudia Grant looked up as Roy Fokker stuck his head in the door. "Hey there, good looking. got a moment?" He asked with that rakish grin of his.  
  
"Depends. Is this official or personal?" she countered with a matching grin.  
  
"A little of both. I need to track down Minmei."  
  
"That had better be the official part," she growled playfully and was rewarded with Roy's patented 'Would I do that?' looks.  
  
"Yup. I have a friend who could use some cheering up; I need to talk to her."  
  
"Easy enough; she's making a movie. You can find her on the set every day. aft end of town, just off the main road. Now, can we get to the personal part, Commander Fokker?"  
  
She was rewarded with a leer. "How personal d'ya wanna get?"  
  
"Dinner tonight?" 'And although you may not know it, breakfast tomorrow', she added to herself.  
  
"Make your famous Pineapple salad and not even an enemy attack could keep me away. Anything new with your 'special friend'?"  
  
She shook her head. "Not yet. Lang is supposed to be up to look him over in about an hour, and he's sending someone to look at the car they found our friend in as well," she noted with a faint expression of exasperation. "Which reminds me. I need to talk to Misters Sterling and Dixon. Apparently, they were the ones who found him."  
  
"I'll send them up, and then I've got to run. Your place at about 19?"(1)  
  
"You know it, Flyboy."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
FM2 (2) 'Rod' Fowler had a sour look on his face as LS3 Gottschalk finished taping the gap between his gloves and the rest of the radiation suit. "Hey, Milo, did the LT say why we got stuck with this scut detail?"  
  
Outside the RCA, (Radiation Containment Area) PS1 Milo Wassermann suppressed a chuckle. "Cause your just to darn Good to be bothered with real work," he replied, before turning to where PS3 'Elvis' Bates manned the phones to engineering control. "Tell Central we're ready to enter." The other PO acknowledged that with a fairly decent impersonation of his namesake, then spoke into his sound powered phone. A minute later Elvis gave Milo the high sign, and Milo nodded to the entry team. Rod scowled and led his three-man team through the hatch.  
  
The sound of the hatch sliding open brought FRED out of standby mode. The four people in radiation suits were clearly not 'Muck' Thunders, which meant they were probably going to try and take him apart and see what made him tick. Unfortunately, whoever had stuck him in here for safekeeping had stuck him up on blocks, so he didn't have many options for stopping them if they were determined about it.  
  
LS2 'Thumper' Chang set to work immediately, taking air samples all around the vehicle as well as randomly through the rest of the space, while EM2 'Shiner' Bowlegg did the same with a radiation detector. "I have a low level count," Shiner reported over his suit comm to Milo. "'Bout as hot as a Veritech plant on standby." He swapped the radiation counter for an infrared unit, or 'nifty'. "Same thing for heat. Whatever this thing is, looks like its powered by a pocket fusion plant under the hood."  
  
"Air's clean too," reported Thumper. "No contaminants, can't say about bugs though."  
  
"Sure looks like a Hummer, a Hard-back model. It's a classic; they stopped making them at the start of the civil war in favor of the more capable soft-top model," PS3 'Stick' Stave noted, walking over to look through the back window. FRED promptly cranked the tint current wide open, and all glass on the car darkened into opacity. "What the hay?" Stick growled as he reached for the tailgate release and FRED locked the doors with a thunk.  
  
"Looks like it likes you about as much as I do," Rod snorted, slowly walking around the vehicle. "Milo, are you sure someone's not trying to pull a fast one on us?"  
  
"Don't see any reason why they would. Why?"  
  
"Cause what I'm seeing doesn't make sense. L.T. said this thing crashed up on one of the hanger decks right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, except for a couple of broken lights and a missing wheel this thing looks like it drove right off the assembly line. No scratched paint or nothing. And the windows just darkened and the doors locked all on their own."  
  
"Maybe it thinks it's a vending machine," quipped Shiner.  
  
Rod growled at Shiner, but Milo's voce cut off whatever it was Rod was about to say. "Try and get the hood open then. IF there really is a fusion plant in there, we should be able to tell who made it pretty easy."  
  
By this time, FRED had managed to find the frequency the team was using and was silently eavesdropping. Hearing this, FRED figured he had only a couple of tricks left, and doubted either of them would be very effective. He still had to try, though, and switched on his external speakers.  
  
Rod tried to reach for the hood release and cursed. "Can't reach the hood release with my suit on. Hand me that crowbar, Stick." As the crowbar smacked into his palm, the intact headlight flashed and the car announced "Alarm ARMED". Rod quirked an eyebrow, and stuck the crowbar into the gap between the hood and the grill.  
  
"Intrusion detected," Fred noted, doing his best to impersonate an impersonal car alarm. "You are too close to this vehicle. Please step away." Rod gave a derisive snort and prepared to put his weight on the crowbar. Fred got ready to pump a wailing noise through the speakers at max volume and hoped for a miracle.  
  
At that moment, the SDF-1 went to general quarters. FRED would have breathed a sigh of relief if he were human. Rod dropped the crowbar and he and his team sprinted for the door and their battlestations.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Micheal Thunders drifted in a warm black void. He wasn't really sure how long he had been this way, but at the moment didn't really care. To be frank, he would have been content to remain like this a while longer, but his other half quietly intruded on his thoughts.  
  
Operating system rebooted Running Diagnostic mode. Complete No faults detected Are you all right? G'way. 'm sleep. I advise you wake up Uh huh. Right. Five more minutes.   
  
All thoughts of sleep suddenly vanished as the impossibility of this conversation impacted on his consciousness. The CPU of the probe he had accidentally merged with three years ago had always been present in a back corner of his mind. but never like this! Responding to something other than the basic command set? Using correct English? It even 'felt' different. almost human, and yet not.  
  
Confirm mode! Standby mode confirmed What the deuce???  
  
Micheal's eyes snapped open, and a wash of gray swamped his vision before resolving into a standard acoustical tile ceiling. He tried to sit up, only to find that he was restrained to the bed. Still, looking down confirmed that he was in his human form. and wearing one of those embarrassing hospital gowns. He also noted he was restrained to the bed at writs and ankle, even as his other 'self' continued undaunted.  
  
Context of statement unclear. However, I believe my enhanced capabilities are a result of injuries sustained during our departure from controlled travel You mean the crash. I believe that is what I said Great. I get knocked upside the head and now I have Spock living in my head. Reference is undefined. Please clarify Later. MUCH later. Now, why did you wake me up? An audio evacuation warning was detected Oh.   
  
A quick experiment proved that while the restraints were sufficient to hold his normal body, they were not strong enough to contain his Star Ranger form. Unfortunately, neither was the bed, which began to creak ominously under his transformed weight, prompting him to climb off and return to his normal form. He then realized that whatever else was true about this Fica, it adhered to the fact that hospital floors were always linoleum, and cold! The room had a cold sterility about it that was common of all hospitals above a certain tech level, and was obviously a private one, for his was the only bed in the room, and no indication that there were any provisions for another. A quick search revealed a closet by the lavatory, containing a set of hospital greens and a set of house slippers, but no sign of his clothes. The unisex garments fit well enough, but the slippers were a bit large. Micheal didn't mind, though, as at least they were warmer than that accursed floor! The door to the hallway was locked, but no real barrier to his strength as Star Ranger. The outside corridor confirmed his initial theory that he was in some sort of infirmary, but there was no one in sight. so he picked a direction at random and began to walk, looking for someone who could tell him where he should be evacuating too. The floor was empty in this direction except for a slightly built brunette (3) asleep in one of the rooms, so he decided against waking her until he had a better idea of what was going on and proceeded down the hall, which ended in a large solarium. The solarium was occupied, but Micheal didn't notice at first as he recognized the skyline outside the large windows. and realized that he was in very deep trouble.  
  
"Macross City." he noted, not really realizing that he spoke aloud. "And no one on the streets. This is not good."  
  
"We'll be OK. Big Brother is out there. He'll keep the Zentraedi out of the city proper!" assured a voice from his left, startling Micheal, who recognized the dark haired speaker in similar clothes.  
  
"Hikaru Ichijyo." Micheal murmured, his mind still reeling from the realization of where he was.  
  
"Huh? I think you have me confused with someone else. The name's Hunter. Rick Hunter," the younger man replied, holding out his hand. Before Micheal could take it, a growling, ripping noise was heard through the large windows. Both men turned to see the mecha of Quadrano ace Miriya drop through the EVA 'sky' and land in the street in front of them in a shower of debris. Rick's heart sank at the sight of an enemy mecha in the very heart of the ship, while Micheal used the distraction to quickly organize his thoughts.  
  
'Rick Hunter. That places me in either the McKinney or Harmony Gold timelines. Americanized names. Veritechs, not Valkeries. Ben Dixon, Max Sterling, Roy Fokker. SHIT! This is the Pineapple Salad episode!' Micheal realized with another shock as Max Sterling's blue trimmed VT dropped from above and chased the enemy mecha through the streets of Macross. 'Tonight, at about 7:30, Roy Fokker, the SDF-1's best pilot is going to die of his wounds. There must be something I can do.' Beside him, Rick Hunter had also recognized the blue trimmed VT and was cheering it on as Micheal's brain tried to figure out a way to warn Claudia Grant that wouldn't get him fitted for a nice coat that closed in the back.  
  
Excusing himself, he found as he exited the solarium that convincing Claudia Grant was going to be the least of his problems, as he suddenly ran into two very large and very irate military police types. And the fact that they had the business ends of their weapons pointed in his direction certainly seemed a good indication that he was the one they were looking for. He briefly considered trying to escape, but quickly tossed the idea out the window. He was certain that their weapons wouldn't be able to harm the metallic hide of his Star Ranger persona, but being in a hospital made the chances of endangering an innocent (Such as Rick, still in the solarium) much to great to risk.  
  
"Umm, I surrender?" he ventured, cautiously raising his hands over his head, overriding his 'probe' side's desire to switch to attack mode and 'explain' to these two why pointing a weapon in his general direction was a VERY *BAD* idea.  
  
"Wise decision, smartass," growled MP number one, his weapon unwavering as the second circled around behind Micheal. "Just keep your hands right where I can see them."  
  
'What the hell?' he thought to himself as MP number two roughly yanked his arms down and handcuffed him. "Um, I don't suppose you two would mind telling me what is going on, would you?"  
  
"What's going on is your going back to your room and wait for Commander Grant. Then you can explain to her what you were doing trying to escape, spy," MP#1 snorted in response, grabbing Micheal roughly by the elbow and propelling him down the corridor.  
  
'Oh, this is JUST great. They think I'm some sort of micronized Zentraedi,' Micheal mused to himself as the two MP's escorted him back to his room. 'I guess breaking the door-lock wasn't such a good idea. But he did say Commander Grant. Its got be Claudia, I doubt there could be two of them even on a ship this size. Maybe I still have a chance here.' As he was lead through the door, he took in the various looks on the hospital staff, which ranged from fear to hatred. 'Then again, maybe not.'  
  
"Go ahead and cuff him to that chair, Adam," MP number one, Tybalt, according to his nametag, decided. "Then call the bridge and let Commander Grant know he's awake. Then call HQ and have them send a couple more men. We'll keep two in the room and two at the door till the commander decides what to do with him." Micheal opened his mouth, but was cut off before he could speak. "Not a word out of you, brig bait. Save it for the commander."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Right, I'll tell her," Comm Tech first class Vanessa Leeds assured the agitated MP on the other end of the line, before clearing the circuit. 'In the morning. From the sound of that pineapple salad comment, Claudia has a date with Commander Fokker tonight. At least one of us should get to have a chance at a decent love life.'  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia Grant was definitely totally in love. Which, she supposed, was why Roy irritated her so sometimes. Leading the understrength Vermilion squadron into battle today was bad enough, but at least she had known about it before hand. And now, he was just sitting there strumming tunelessly on his guitar. Judging by the look on his face, though, today's mission had been tougher on her beloved than most. Right then and there she decided that Roy was taking the day off tomorrow and rest, even if she had to tie him to her bed to guarantee it.  
  
"You know, Lisa admitted today that she likes Lt. Hunter. She even went down and saw him in the Hospital today," she noted.  
  
"Mr. Lingerie and the Old Sourpuss? That will be an interesting romance to watch," Roy noted wryly.  
  
"Oh, I dunno. I doubt it'll be more tempestuous than ours," Claudia joked lightly, before becoming somber again. "I'm just glad that you told me you were taking over Vermilion this morning. It was bad enough knowing you were going up; I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't known. Sometimes it seems like you pilots treat this like a giant game."  
  
"It's never been a game, Claudia. Not for me, not ever," Roy declared shortly. Somehow, he felt cold all over. He tried to turn his attention back to his guitar, but his hands didn't want to listen. 'Just a quick nap', he decided, as his eyelids descended of their own volition.  
  
He forced himself to open them again as someone called his name from far away. He found himself wrapped in a brilliant white light as Kramer walked up to him and tossed him his flight helmet. There was one mission left to fly. THE mission. The mission that would end war everywhere, and then there wouldn't be anything to take him from her side again. After this he could turn in his flight helmet for good, and Claudia wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. He was sure she would understand. He didn't understand how Pop Hunter had gotten tapped for this mission, but he was glad the old flyer was there as well. He was surrounded by some of the best men he had ever flown with, with the best fighters he had ever seen. far sleeker and even more dazzling than a Veritech. They were climbing now, up and up through the atmosphere, the sky growing strangely brighter instead of the darkness of space; Roy grinned his rakish grin as he led his squadron right into the center of the brilliant white light.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Even before Dr. Hassan stepped out of the emergency room, Claudia knew. Even as her head tried to remind her of how many times these doctors had saved someone from certain death, deep in her heart she knew. Roy Fokker, the man she loved more than anything, was dead. Dr. Hassan's expression as he stepped into the waiting room only confirmed what she already knew, even before he spoke the dreaded words. She heard the stilted, formal phrases only faintly; as if the entirety of reality had been pushed far away by the emptiness swirling around her.  
  
Then she was left alone, to look on the one face that meant more to her than anything else for the last time. He had already been cleaned up, and lying there with the sheet up to his chest all she could remember was the wonder she had felt that first morning, when she had woken up before him and sat for an hour just looking at his face. As then, he looked so calm and relaxed, a far cry from the focused leader of men he was inside the cockpit of a Veritech. She had laid her hand on his chest feeling the warmth and its slow rise and fall. But now the chest under her hand was still and cold, and the moment of happy memory dissolved into cruel reality, and the emptiness about her crystallized into soul crushing sorrow as she threw herself across his chest and wept.  
  
If asked later, Claudia could not have told anyone if that timeless moment of sorrow was a minute, or an hour; checking a watch or clock would only have cheapened her final moments with the man who had meant more to her than life itself. Eventually, it passed, as all moments must regardless of their length, and she stood on unsteady legs. Still the emptiness of her loss swirled about her, and eventually she found herself standing on the roof of Macross General, with no real recollection of how she had gotten there. Above her was a darkness that matched the darkness trying to seep into every corner of her soul; below, a vista of lights like that of their occasional trips up into the hills around Macross Island.  
  
It was the occasion of their first trip into those hills that she had made her pineapple salad for him the first time, and he had never failed to show when she made it. Tonight, that had killed him. Suddenly, her sorrow became guilt; had he not been so determined to spend the evening with her he would not have died. It was all her fault that the SDF-1 was without one of its best pilots! For a moment she considered throwing herself off the roof in an attempt to atone for her selfishness when someone below her slid open a window. Drifting through the silent air of the giant hold came the haunting lyrics of one of Roy's favorite tunes; the one he used to calm her fears that she might die before he did.  
  
"If you should get there before I do, please kindly wait for me. I'll be with you when my chores are through. It won't be long 'til I'm with you. Until then. Love, Me."  
  
A warmth enveloped her, as if Roy had stepped out of nowhere and wrapped his strong and loving arms around her. Roy Fokker may have died, but he had died doing what he loved most. He had died defending those who could not defend themselves, and he had kept his promise to always come home to her. A peace settled over her, banishing the guilt. It was as she said when she first met him. he was at his best going Mach 2 with his pants on fire. "Yes, Roy Fokker," she whispered into the silence. "I'll wait till my chores are through. Until I am again with you, love. Me."  
  
Claudia stepped out of the elevator and blinked for a moment in confusion. She had intended to ride down to the lobby, but had wound up on the floor Rick Hunter's room was on instead. She considered breaking the news to him, but decided that it could wait until morning. It would probably be better to allow someone else to deliver the news as well. Colonel Maistroff's alleged spy was on this floor as well, and the doctors thought he should be conscious by now, so she turned in that direction instead.  
  
The two MP's by the door came to attention as she approached, and she returned their salute. "How is the prisoner, Sergeant Jury?"  
  
"Awake, Ma'am. He was making a ruckus about seeing you until about 19:30 ma'am, then he just sort of clamed up."  
  
"When did he come to?"  
  
"During the attack ma'am." The sergeant flushed, but continued. "He got out of his room for a moment while we were helping the staff evacuate patients, but we found him before he got off this floor. Sergeant Tybalt and Corporal Bailesu (4) are in with him now."  
  
Claudia nodded understanding, and the corporal opened the door for her. She couldn't help but note the damage to the doorjamb. apparently; this person was much stronger than anyone had thought. Which explained the two other MP's stationed in the room with the prisoner, who was at present handcuffed to a chair with his back to her, facing the window. She walked around it to face him before speaking, while the MP's moved to stand on either side of her. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Grant. I understand you wanted to speak with me?"  
  
"I'm. I'm sorry, Claudia. I tried to warn you." the prisoner murmured softly, looking up from his lap. Claudia noticed that he had a downcast expression on his face, but his confusing words only added to the barely controlled pain in her heart.  
  
"What are you talking about?" she demanded.  
  
"At 19:30 hours this evening, Commander Roy Fokker was pronounced dead in the ER," Micheal replied softly. Claudia rocked back on her heels, in shock, as that soft pronouncement tore open the scab over her healing hurt. Catching everyone, including herself by surprise, she snatched the weapon from one of the MP's and leveled it at the prisoner.  
  
"Who the hell are you and how did you know that?" she demanded.  
  
Continued in Part 4: Response  
  
++++  
  
(1) This is a type of slang. Roy is referring to 1900 hours, or 7pm to a civilian.  
  
(2) These characters can be found in Jaime Wilde's story "Snipes in Wonderland", and are used by permission. A quick translation guide: EM = Electrician's Mate FM = Fusion Maintenance tech LS = Life Support Systems tech PS = Power Systems Tech  
  
(3) Yes, it's Minmei. No, he didn't recognize her. Think about it. He only sees her from behind, and he hasn't been constantly exposed to her presence for the last two years the way everyone aboard has. (  
  
(4) The names of the MP's are, indeed, list moderators for various Mailing Lists I belong too. What can I say? It seemed apropriate. 


	4. Revalations

Tales of the Wanderer Book 2: Wandering Ace Episode 4: Responses  
  
"I'm. I'm sorry, Claudia. I tried to warn you." the prisoner murmured softly, looking up from his lap. Claudia noticed that he had a downcast expression on his face, but his confusing words only added to the barely controlled pain in her heart.  
  
"What are you talking about?" she demanded.  
  
"At 19:30 hours this evening, Commander Roy Fokker was pronounced dead in the ER," Micheal replied softly. Claudia rocked back on her heels, in shock, as that soft pronouncement tore open the scab over her healing hurt. Catching everyone, including herself by surprise, she snatched the weapon from one of the MP's and leveled it at the prisoner.  
  
"Who the hell are you and how did you know that?" she demanded.  
  
"Freeze this." Lisa Hayes' voice cut through the darkened briefing room. The image on the screen obligingly froze, and the lights came up to about half brightness. Around the U-shaped briefing table were most of the department heads aboard the SDF-1, with Claudia Grant seated in the center of the room, as if she was the subject of an inquiry; which was accurate as she indeed was! Lisa turned to her fellow bridge officer and friend, trying her best to keep her voice cool and professional. "Lieutenant Commander Grant, what exactly were you thinking about when you did this?"  
  
Claudia looked from the briefing room screen into her friends eyes, and then to the assembled officers. Lisa recognized the haunted look of loss there, one she herself had seen in the mirror in the weeks following her confirmation of Karl Riber's death. Claudia's voice was weak but unwavering as she directed her answer to her fellow department heads. "To be honest, Commander, I wasn't thinking at all at this point. Commander Fokker had. " Claudia's voice broke for a moment, but she took a deep breath and continued in a slightly stronger tone. "Commander Fokker had just been declared dead about an hour before, and I had just come to terms with the initial grief. Then the prisoner's statement sent me into a total state of shock. There was no way he could have known what happened, and yet he was apologizing for it. I would have to state that I wasn't thinking at all, I just reacted." Claudia's eyes dropped to the table she was seated at as she finished her statement.  
  
"With this result," Lisa finished for Claudia, then turned her attention to the young yeoman manning the playback controls. "Play the next section at ten to one reduction, no sound."  
  
The briefing room obligingly darkened again and the image on the large screen behind Claudia again began to move. In response to the sudden threat, the prisoner in hospital dress handcuffed to the chair began to change. Even at a ten to one reduction in playback speed, it lasted less than ten seconds. The prisoner pushed the chair backwards, and his skin took on a silvery hue, starting from his extremities and moving to the center of his body mass, absorbing the clothes encountered on the way. The handcuff that secured the prisoner to the chair popped open, its lock shattered. The prisoner then leaped into a backward somersault, its form changing from that of an almost human to another that was readily familiar to the assembled officers. In less than a second of real time, the 'prisoner' had landed on its feet, but now looked almost exactly like one of the SDF-1's Veritech fighters, complete to the gun held in its hands and pointed at Lt. Cmdr. Grant.  
  
"Freeze here," Lisa again ordered, but this time the briefing room remained darkened. "As you all can see, at this point the prisoner superficially resembles one of our own Veritech fighters. There are however, several critical differences. First, none of our fighter squadrons use this green on black color scheme. More important are these back-mounted modules here, the underarm pods here, and the leg pods here. Again, none of our Veritechs are configured like this. Also, remember that even fully transformed, this person stands approximately six feet tall, or 1/7th the size of a Veritech." Lisa again turned to the video tech. "Play the rest."  
  
As Captain Gloval watched the remaining seconds of video play out, he was struck by two facts. The first was that it seemed like while one hand was trying to point the. the. thing's weapon on Claudia and the guards, the other was trying to point the gun AWAY from them. The fact that this thing was pleading with Claudia to put the gun down before something rash happened was co-incidental, at best. That the prisoner returned to his human form and allowed himself to be handcuffed after the MP regained control of his weapon from Claudia was the second. He allowed his gaze to sweep over his senior officers as the lighting in the briefing room returned too normal. "Comments, Gentlemen?" He asked.  
  
The briefing room erupted into a quiet rooba-rooba of subdued conversation for a few seconds before Col. Maistroff spoke up. "Sir, I think the video recording makes my case totally. Cmdr. Grant is presently NOT fit either for duty or to head up this investigation due to her feelings in regards to the loss of Cmdr. Fokker. In addition, whatever that thing is could ONLY be some sort of enemy spy, carefully crafted to try and infiltrate the SDF-1 without being noticed. We're just lucky that they didn't get it right!"  
  
"With all due respect," Dr Hassan countered from the other side of the briefing table, "I have to disagree. Perhaps Cmdr. Grant's actions were a bit out of hand, but given how close this incident came after Cmdr. Fokker's death I believe it was a natural reaction, and does not indicate that her loss WILL affect her ability to perform her duties. As to our 'guest', if you had bothered to look at the results of the tests we performed while he was unconscious, you'd notice that he is well within human norms! Given that the Zentraedi never even laid eyes on us until their fleet arrived here at earth, your claims are unfounded at best!"  
  
"HA!" the Major in charge of the Civil Defense teams snorted. "How can you say that when we've never even captured an enemy solder to do any studies on?"  
  
"That is enough," Gloval noted in his command tone, cutting off Dr. Hassan's imminent reply. "I think that covers the territory that is pertinent to this discussion. Dr. Lang, Do you have an opinion on this matter?"  
  
"Ja, Captain. I was able to take some readings while the prisoner was still unconscious. Most of them did not indicate anything out of the ordinary. However, the prisoner does seem to be generating some sort of low-level field similar to that put out by our space fold engines before they vanished. In addition, the vehicle in which the prisoner was found also exhibits similar readings, of a more residual level. If the prisoner was intended to be some sort of spy, then the level of Robotechnology that would have to have been used to create him is far beyond anything that the Zentraedi have yet exhibited. In addition to this, the lack of maintenance exhibited aboard the Zentraedi ships during Cmdr. Hayes' captivity would only confirm this belief. Given these facts, the only conclusion I can come to is that the prisoner is not from anywhere in our universe."  
  
Gloval steepled his fingers in thought as the shockwave of that pronouncement silenced the entire room. For a long moment the hum of the air circulation equipment was the only sound in the large room as the assembled officers grappled with that impossibility. Spying Maistroff about to say something, Gloval spoke up, cutting the Colonel off. "Thank you, Dr. Lang. Given these facts, I can only make one decision. Commander Grant, I find that your actions were, in fact, a result of emotional distress caused by Cmdr. Fokker's death. Because of this you will not be charged with any wrongdoing. You will, however, be placed on 3 days leave in order to allow you to come to terms with it. Because of this, I am placing Dr. Lang in charge of the investigation of this whatever it is. Col. Maistroff, you will remand this person into Dr. Lang's custody at Dr. Lang's convenience. This meeting is hearby adjourned."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
There was no mistaking the person who waited for him in the interview room of the brig. Although he could remember no scenes with Dr. Emil Lang in the series, the unearthliness of those totally black eyes clearly identified him. "Dr. Lang, I presume," Micheal noted with his best British accent, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
"It appears you have the better of me then sir, unless you actually are Lt. Commander Micheal Thunders, USN," Lang countered in a flat and expressionless voice. Micheal fought to keep his skin from crawling at the alieness of it as he replied.  
  
"So that's who I am here. No, Doctor, I am not. Where I come from I was a Captain in the USAF before I retired."  
  
"Where do you come from then?" Lang pressed.  
  
"Earth, but not this earth. One which exists in a parallel fica, or dimension. One where all this," Micheal waved his hands in a sweeping gesture meant to include everything around him, "was a cartoon for children about fifteen years ago. One in which there is a very small percentage of the people who can do THIS." With that, Micheal shimmered into his Star Ranger form, holding it for about a moment before returning to his human one.  
  
"I see." Even after the demonstration, neither Lang's voice or his face showed any change of expression. "They can assume the form of cartoon characters."  
  
"No, they have abilities 'Far beyond those of normal men'" Micheal replied. "Some of us use them to enrich themselves at others expense, while the rest of us try to defend the helpless from them. You know, like the old superman cartoons? Stopping villains, saving people from natural disasters, those sort of things?"  
  
"I see. And you've decided to just 'drop by' and help us with the Zentraedi threat?"  
  
"Nooooot exactly," Micheal admitted slowly.  
  
"Then how is it you happen to be here?" Lang continued to press.  
  
"Because I'm a perfect example of why you don't let people play with teleporters." Lang did not reply, but his raised eyebrow clearly indicated that an explanation was desired. "After I got out of the Air Force, I went back to school. I was able to secure a grant to study the effectiveness of teleportation as a way of moving troops around. The problem was, I needed to prove my theory or loose funding, so I stepped into the prototype and set the arrival co-ordinates to that of my boss' lab. The problem was that I 'arrived' at the very spot that she was using to demonstrate HER present research project, a robotic probe. As a result, I became this;" once more Micheal shifted into his Star Ranger form. "And once that happened, I was done in research. In fact, the only real job opening for me after that was as a superhero. And that is how I wound up trying to stop a mad scientist who was also using teleportation to try and dominate the world. The problem is that in stopping him, I damaged his equipment. The resulting explosion blew me out of my home dimension, and I'm actually just trying to get home." Micheal returned once more to his human form and sat down.  
  
"So the explosion is what brought you here."  
  
"Again, not exactly. I wound up in another Fica than this one. They helped me build FRED, and since then we've been jumping from dimension to dimension trying to get me back home."  
  
"Fred would be the car you were discovered in?"  
  
"Actually, Fred would be the AI that controls the car as well as the portal sensors and generators mounted in it. Without him, I'm going to be a permanent resident of Macross City."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Gloval sat back and busied himself with the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe as the rest of the recording played out un-noticed on his desktop terminal. He used the delay while he got the pipe to draw smoothly to organize his thoughts before turning back to face the SDF-1's chief engineer. "And you want to allow his request for access to his vehicle, Lang?"  
  
"Ja, Captain. I see no reason to believe Col. Maistroff's allegations. If this person was a spy, I do not believe he would claim that he was an accidental visitor from another dimension. He in fact seems most interested in seeing if his vehicle is capable of allowing him to leave here as soon as possible instead. A spy would want to be trusted and allowed to snoop around gathering whatever data his masters had sent him after, not to leave as soon as possible."  
  
"And you believe his claims that his information comes from seeing a cartoon when he was a teen?" It was now Gloval's turn to press; though Lang had never been known to lie or previcate since the jolt he had taken in the first exploration of the SDF-1.  
  
"Ja. He knows things that no spy, however carefully briefed, could know. Things that even I didn't know until I asked Cmdr. Hayes about them." (1)  
  
Gloval did not reply, instead leaning back his chair and looking at the overhead of his cabin as he smoked and thought. The pipe was nearly finished by the time that Gloval again returned his gaze to Lang, but the look in his eyes was one who had come to a decision. "Very well, Lang. If our visitor is willing to let you and your experts look under the hood and confirm that there is no Zentraedi technology there, you can allow him access to his vehicle."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Micheal looked at the assembled members of Tiger Team 9 in their protective suits and sighed. (2) Turning back to Lang, he asked, "Do they really need all that gear? If Fred's damaged, either the fail-safes kicked in or he would have blown sky high long ago. According to what you've said, it's been almost a week since I arrived." To emphasize the point, neither he nor Lang wore a similar suit. Lang simply returned his gaze, neither replying nor ordering TT9 out of their suits. It wasn't until Micheal sighed and looked away in an obvious gesture of acceptance that Lang signaled for the hatch to be opened. And it wasn't until Lang received the all clear that he and Micheal entered.  
  
"Damage report, Fred" Micheal asked as soon as he was through the door. The only response was a single beep of the horn, and a couple of members of TT9 snickered into their suit comms. Micheal himself scowled, but addressed FRED again. "Fine, be that way. Authentication code Klatu Vertu Est, you obstinate hunk of steel."  
  
Behind Micheal, PS1 Milo Wassermann was about to start chewing on someone's backside for breaking comm discipline when the sound of unlocking doors turned his attention back to the car that had so far resisted their attempts to enter. And he felt his own jaw drop as the car ANSWERED the stranger who had addressed it. Granted, machines that talked back were not exactly a novelty here on the SDF-1, but most of them were idiots, capable of understanding and responding only to a limited set of verbal cues. and not always reliably at that. The voice that answered sounded every bit as human as a fellow member of TT9, and seemed quite capable of understanding complex statements!  
  
"Of course I'm obstinate. I'm a machine. and there wasn't any way for ME to know it was really you without the code, Muck. Don't blame me, you're the one who implemented that security feature, remember?"  
  
"Later, Fred. Right now I need a damage report. And open the hood, please."  
  
As Fred's hood popped open without being touched, he continued to report his ills in that same rich baritone. "CPU systems OK. Reactor on- line and nominal. Portal generator nominal. Portal sensors damaged, box A- 31 is not answering to diagnostic queries. Drive system damaged, Probable loss of right front wheel and drive motor. Numerous personal effects containers out of position in the load-bed."  
  
After hearing the damage report, Micheal forgot about the others in the compartment and was around in front of the vehicle in a flash. "Front right wheel assembly is totally gone alright, FRED. I'm sure we can fabricate a replacement out of local parts though." Micheal stuck his head under the hood, not noticing as Lang and the members of TT9 gathered around him and peered at the strange equipment found there. A single look into Lang's normally inscrutable face convinced PM1 Wassermann that even the ships robotechnology miracle worker hadn't seen anything like this sort of gear before.  
  
Under their scrutiny Micheal continued unfazed. Reaching around the equipment, he wiggled something, then spoke again. "The connector was knocked out in the crash. Try it now, FRED."  
  
"I have telemetry from A-31 again, but I'm still getting negative responses from cards A-31-22 and 23, Muck."  
  
"Vas is this Muck?" Lang asked from next to Micheal, snapping his attention back to who was there with him.  
  
"It was my call sign back when I was a zoomie. I flew A-12 Thunderbolts; an upgrade of the A-10 Warthog. I was the best in my wing at air to ground tactics, so was dubbed Muck cause I was the best at getting down in the muck." Micheal straightened up and looked around at the still suited members of TT9. "I need to get that box open. Would someone hand me a number 1 Philips-head?"  
  
"Just what are we looking at, Mr. Thunders?" Lang inquired as the requested screwdriver was produced.  
  
"That big black box along the back of the engine compartment is Fred's CPU and primary storage. Forward of that is the main reactor, and forward of that is the dimensional portal generator, with the dimensional sensor clusters behind each headlight array," Micheal replied as he took the screwdriver and stuck his head back down into the array of unusual equipment. A moment later he cursed and spoke up. "A-22-C3 is blown out, and A-22-M1 and A-23-M9 are shattered, Fred. Are those what I think they are?"  
  
"Both M parts are red-flagged. We're not going anywhere till you can find or make replacements."  
  
Muck pulled himself out from under the hood, not noticing that the members of TT9 moved in to fill the spot he had just vacated. He slumped down to the deck, bracing his back against the bulkhead. "Fred, we are in serious trouble."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Gloval gazed across his desk at his chief engineer and the redheaded stranger still in a prison coverall. Beside him, his pipe still burned, ignored for the moment. "Absolutely not. This is a warship, not a place for civilians. As much as I sympathize with Mr. Thunders plight, he will be going ashore with the rest of the inhabitants of Macross City once we find someplace that will take them."  
  
"It won't work, Captain," Micheal replied softly, stopping Gloval's hand halfway to the pipe. "Ontario sector is going to change it's mind." Unfazed by the icy glare he received from Gloval, he continued undaunted. "As a result of a Zentraedi attack, a good section of Ontario sector is going to be devastated and they will rescind their invitation to accept the civilians of Macross."  
  
"Because you saw that episode of the show," Gloval noted his voice cold and hard. "Regardless of your supposed knowledge, I am still the captain of this ship and responsible for the safety of all aboard. My decision stands. Mr. Thunders, you will wait outside while I discuss your disposition with Dr. Lang." Micheal started to open his mouth to protest, but Gloval cut him off before he could say a word. "This discussion is over. Say one more word and I will have you returned to the brig in irons!"  
  
Micheal slowly closed his mouth and departed the cabin without another word. Once the door had closed behind Micheal, Gloval picked up his pipe and took a long draw. As he exhaled, he returned his gaze to his chief engineer. "Your certain about your findings?"  
  
"Ja, Captain. All the components we have looked at are either duplicates to our own, or nothing we have ever seen before. Everything points to his being exactly what he claims."  
  
Gloval pondered that as he finished his pipe. This stranger was correct in frightening detail. He was in negotiations with the Ontario sector and had just about reached an agreement with them. But no one outside of his bridge crew even knew he had been talking with the officials of Ontario, and here this person had just said that they were doomed to fail. Still, it gave him a way to prove or disprove this Micheal Thunders' claims. "Go ahead and release him from custody, Lang. Get him quarters in the city, but don't let him wander around alone. Assign someone as a guide. and to make sure that he doesn't go poking around in things he shouldn't."  
  
"Ja, Captain. And his vehicle?"  
  
"He can remove his personal effects, but other than that it remains impounded until he goes ashore."  
  
"Ja, Captain."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
HM1 (3) Elsa Bibat stepped through the hatch as the MP waved her through and stopped in amazement. As a member of the Civil defense teams aboard the SDF-1, she had seen many things, but a grown man guarded by an MP while crying over a broken coffeepot was a new one to her. (4) Even her days as an anti-Huk rebel hadn't prepared her for it. The man in question was about a head taller than she was, with red hair cropped short on top and a small collar length ponytail in back. A loud floral print shirt and jeans covered his frame, not allowing her to determine his build accurately. Still, the image of this man in 3 quarters profile cradling a shattered coffee carafe like it was a child brought giggles to her for years to come, just as it had the first time she had seen him. At the sound of her voice, he turned, revealing green eyes and a comical red mustache. Fortunately, his gaze reminded her of exactly what her assignment was, and she banished the giggles and squared herself into attention. "Petty officer Bibat, sir. I'll be your guide during your time in Macross City."  
  
He gazed at her for a long second, and she knew he was examining her. She wondered just what he thought of her warm brown eyes and dark hair, along with her trim but still feminine form in its duty jumpsuit. She had survived her years as a rebel by being able to read the emotions in a man's eyes as he looked at her, yet she wasn't able to read his. Elsa wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing when her charge sighed and broke eye contact, turning to drop the remains of the coffeepot in a nearby wastebasket. "And I'm Micheal Thunders. This is my other keeper, Og," he noted, inclining his head to indicate the MP watching him with a level gaze.  
  
"Corporal Bailesu (5) has a name, sir. Its right there on his uniform," Elsa noted in an attempt to be polite.  
  
"As does Corporal Hosmer outside the door, Petty officer Bibat. But talking to them is like talking to a brick wall. Worst damn conversationalists I've ever met." Micheal returned to the open back of the Humvee in the compartment and removed to large black boxes that looked similar to the ammo cans Elsa used to hide for her fellow rebels. He opened both and showed the contents to Corp. Bailesu who nodded slightly, and Micheal added them to the small pile of similar container stacked outside the vehicle. "Well, that's the last of it," he sighed. "Do you have a first name, Corpsman Bibat?"  
  
"Elsa is fine, sir," she replied as he managed to pick up four of the cases at once and looked at her expectantly.  
  
"And please, drop the sir, Elsa. Just call me Muck," he replied as Elsa grabbed two of the remaining cases and indicated for Corp. Bailesu to grab the remaining case and the coffeemaker that no longer had a carafe.  
  
"All right, 'Muck'. I have a vehicle outside to take us to your new quarters. If you'll come with me, please?"  
  
To be continued. (1) If you're wondering, he mentioned the 'Mr. Lingerie' incident as well as the real motivation behind Lisa's actions at Mars Base.  
  
(2) Once again, Tiger Team 9 is the property of Jamie Wilde, and first appeared in his story "Snipes in Wonderland". They were supposed to appear by permission, but when I sent their scenes to him for comment, he never got back to me.  
  
(3) Hospital Corpsman First Class, Also Elsa appears courtesy of herself.  
  
(4) See Tales of the Wanderer: Book 1 at my web-site to better understand the Wanderer's travails when it comes to coffee makers.  
  
(5) Bailesu and J. Hosmer are both members in good standing of the FFML. I couldn't resist the thought of using them as MP's ^_^ 


	5. Acceptance

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 5: Acceptance  
  
There was something of a timeless nature to life in Macross City. Every day, sunrise and sunset occurred at the same time, though there was no 'sun' in the EVE sky. Day and night, the temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees, and even the massive amounts of air that were circulated through the city were not enough to generate a detectable breeze unless one was near an air vent. Shops tended to be open seven days a week, with one day blending into the next so that one needed to look at a calendar to remember the day or date. Nor was there much need to do even that in the insulated community of refugees tucked safely in the belly of the SDF-1. Most of the people who needed to keep track of things like that were crewmembers anyway.  
  
Elsa Bibat (1) was one of the latter, since as "The Wanderer's" keeper she had to remember when he was supposed to appear at various debriefings. The Wanderer himself, as he had been dubbed by Dr. Lang, had adopted a calendar of 3 days, consisting of just Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, so Elsa wound up acting as much as an appointment secretary as guide and observer. Her years as a rebel to the Huk government, which had controlled the Philippine islands through a campaign of terror during the years of the Global Civil Wars, served her in good stead, allowing her to keep the schedule in her head and getting the wanderer to the right place and time without making it appear he had to be lead. Elsa, on the other hand, was very much a creature of habit and precise schedules; it had been a handy distraction during those years, as Huk informants were often dulled into inattention, neutralizing them. As a Corpsman, her precision allowed her to perform her tasks in an efficient manner, without overlooking vital information.  
  
All of which explained why she was letting herself into the Wanderer's quarters at exactly 08:00, even though she knew that he wouldn't be up. The Wanderer had been extensively debriefed, and only Dr. Lang continued to show any interest in him; however, for the last few days Lang and the entire engineering department had been putting the finishing touches on the implementation of some of Lang's research. With no debriefings to attend, the Wanderer had taken to sleeping in; as expected the lights were off and the drapes drawn. Elsa helped herself to a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker which had automatically turned itself on five minutes ago, then opened the drapes to let the EVE generated light in before settling down to wait. A few minutes after 09:00, her patience was rewarded by the faint sound of activity from the single bedroom of the apartment, followed by the momentary appearance of her charge. His red hair was impossibly disheveled, and he was dressed in a ratty maroon robe over equally ratty pajamas, topped off with heavy beard stubble. To Elsa's trained eyes, it was very clear that the Wanderer was not much of a morning person; he showed no sign that he even knew she was there as he shambled over to the coffeepot and pored himself his first cup of coffee, then shambled back into the bedroom. She continued doodling and she turned over something he had said in passing the morning before. He had noticed her sketches, and had asked her if she had ever considered drawing manga.  
  
Elsa liked drawing, but it wasn't the center of her universe, really. Even before joining the rebellion, she had been studying medicine. Her time as a rebel showed her that being the first on the scene and rendering emergency aid was more to her liking than working in a hospital. Besides, who would possibly want to read a manga about a boy who turned into a girl when splashed with water?  
  
Eager to be about whatever it was for the day, she put away her sketchpad as the sound of the shower stopped, and headed into the kitchen. By the time the Wanderer emerged, clean, shaven, and dressed, there was food sitting on the small table out on the balcony. "Morning, Elsa," he said with a yawn, finally noticing her presence as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. "What's on the schedule for today?"  
  
Elsa found herself counting backwards from ten in Latin before she could resist the urge to hit him over the head with something heavy. The Wanderer was as least as intelligent as she was, yet he insisted on behaving like some burned out beach bum that couldn't even remember what day it was! "Why actually, I have no idea," she replied, deciding that two could play this game.  
  
"Hmm." Elsa winced, she knew what was coming next, and she still didn't appreciate it. Undaunted, the Wanderer continued his delivery, slipping into a deep bass; "Pinky, are you pondering what I am pondering?"  
  
Elsa refused to rise to the bait; "Why no, *sir*. I'm not a mind reader." Micheal, noting that the sir was meant as a slur, hung his head sheepishly and retreated out to the balcony. It took another count back from ten before she was composed enough to follow him. He was playing with his food, staring listlessly out at the EVE sky overhead. "Is something bothering you?" she finally found herself asking after he picked up the plate of food, un-eaten, and dumped it down the reclamation chute.  
  
"Cabin Fever," was the grunted reply, catching Elsa by surprise.  
  
"Why? You're free to move about the city, as long as I go with you."  
  
"Not out there," Micheal replied, pointing out at the city. "Up there," he elaborated, pointing up at the EVE sky. "I'm feeling penned in here on the ground, but Command would have a cow if I took to the air here in town, let alone if I asked for a ride in a VT."  
  
Elsa grinned at that. For all of the irritating things about her 'charge', there was something about him that kept her from being mad at him for long, and at the moment his little boy act had managed to stir the maternal in her soul. "Perceptive as usual, Muck," she noted, closing the sliding glass door to the balcony as she collected her purse from the table. "However, I have an idea."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Blinko Imperiale, owner and manager of the Close Encounters arcade, looked out across his domain with pride before turning back to Frankie, his assistant manager. "What did I tell you, Frankie? It's all about location. With all the RDF types that come in along with the kids, we've made enough to pay off our startup costs in half the time. And that's with buying the machines instead of leasing them the way everyone else has. By the time we get off this hunk of metal we'll be able to retire in STYLE, man!" From his expression, Frankie clearly had some doubts, but choose to remain silent. He was assisted in this by the arrival of additional parties who changed the course of the conversation.  
  
"There he is. Hey Blinko, do you still have that Strike Commander machine around here somewhere?" a familiar voice injected into the conversation.  
  
"Yo, Elsa," Blinko replied, changing topics without missing a beat. "Whadda want with that relic, anyway?" The machine in question was one of Blinko's first purchases from the game machine firm founded by Elsa's family after the SDF-1's miss-jump. As a test bed for later designs, Elsa's brother had converted an old computer game into an arcade version. The basic machine had been a reasonable success, but the full motion version had sold only one unit. to Blinko. After Bibat Games next release, however, Strike Commander had become yesterday's news. In fact, Blinko's full motion copy was the only Strike Commander machine that hadn't been scrapped or converted to the more popular 'Veritechs!'.  
  
"My friend here wants to play it," Elsa replied in a frosty tone that screamed 'DUH' to Micheal, standing a half pace behind her.  
  
"No problem, Elsa. I take it this is the friend in question?" Blinko gave Micheal a quick glance that clearly approved his loud Hawaiian print shirt.  
  
"Yes. Blinko, this is Muck. Muck, Blinko, the owner," Elsa replied. Blinko raised an eyebrow as Muck shook hands but otherwise remained rather subdued.  
  
"No problem. Frankie will plug it in for ya. I was just on my way to lunch, Elsa. Could I interest you in joining me?"  
  
"Blinko, what part of the word no don't you understand?"  
  
"Elsa, if I listened to everyone who told me no, I wouldn't be where I am today!"  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Ah, now *THIS* is my idea of a lunch!" Micheal chortled around a mouthful of steak and mushrooms. Elsa couldn't help but shake her head at his manners, but grinned herself in-between bites of her Chinese chicken salad.  
  
"Actually, what got me was the expression on Blinko's face when he walked in from lunch just as Frankie was handing you your prize. He's had that voucher for lunch for two here for months and no one had won it yet. And on a Strike Commander machine in campaign mode to boot!" she admitted. Micheal gave her an incredulous look, forcing her to explain. "Ok. Here's the deal. My brother made the machine, but it's not that popular anymore, both because it was low scoring, and because everyone has Veritech fever. Plus, in Campaign mode, you only get points if you complete the mission successfully."  
  
Micheal still had an expression of disbelief on his face as he replied. "But the machine wasn't that hard. at least not to me anyway."  
  
"True, but most people prefer the interactive 'dog-fight' mode, because they get points per kill, not per mission. And everyone really loves the Veritech machine, because they know that's what out there keeping the enemy away from us."  
  
Micheal popped another bite of steak into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before replying. "So, In the space of two hours, I cleaned him out on what was possibly the most difficult machine in the place. Hard enough that no one else plays it anymore, at any rate. No wonder he was so glad to see us go."  
  
"Well, you anyway. He's been trying to get me to go out with him since I first met him."  
  
"But he's not your type." Micheal's tone made it clear that it was a statement, not a question.  
  
"Nope. I prefer someone a bit more quiet and self-assured in a man. Like Lt. Sterling there." Elsa noted, indicating the trio of pilots who had just walked into the steak house and sat down. The soft tinkling of a fork that was dropped a short distance caught her attention, and she looked at Micheal, who was now just sitting there with his eyes closed and a look of pain on his face. "Are you all right?" she asked, leaning close and whispering into Micheal's ear.  
  
Micheal leaned back and took a deep breath before opening his eyes again. "Yes. I'm just suddenly not hungry anymore. Have them pack the rest of this to go, please?" he asked, then stood and deliberately walked from the restaurant without saying another word.  
  
He was already in the jeep Elsa had been issued with the engine running by the time that she emerged carrying the two to-go boxes. Once she was in, he peeled out with a short protest from the tires as he whipped the jeep through a U-turn and started back to the apartment he had been assigned.  
  
"What is going on here, Muck?" Elsa demanded, trying to get her seat belt fastened without loosing the food boxes or being thrown from the jeep.  
  
"Be glad you don't know the future, Elsa. All heck is about to break loose," Micheal replied ominously.  
  
"Ah. More of your 'I know what is going to happen to us' claims, Muck?"  
  
"It's the truth, Elsa. The SDF-1 is going to be coming under attack shortly. Before its over, though, several thousand civilians and one Flight Corporal Ben Dixon, the pilot back there in the uniform with yellow trim, will be dead." Elsa remained quiet after that, but carried an expression of disbelief on her face the rest of the way back to the apartment. One that turned to shock when she heard the alert sirens go off just as Micheal put the leftovers in his refrigerator.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Captain Henry Gloval stared out the viewport that formed the back wall of his office and smoked, trying to make sense out of the most recent turn of events. He wasn't certain which disturbed him more; the high casualty reports from the Ontario sector, or that aside from warning him, this visitor of theirs hadn't tried to stop it. Why hadn't he was the question that nagged most at Gloval. Was it because he wanted to prove what he was talking about? Or had it been some sort of triple or quadruple think to set Gloval up? And both of those didn't preclude the possibility that this wanderer hadn't done anything because he couldn't; but was that because for all his knowledge, even this wanderer couldn't change what was in their future, or just that Gloval hadn't listened? What else did this person have up his sleeve?  
  
The admittance chime of his door moved his thoughts from the esoteric to immediate concerns. "Enter," he commanded, and the door slid open to admit Cmdr. Hayes and Grant. As they took seats, Gloval indicated the stack of reports on his desk with his pipe. "Have you familiarized yourselves with the most recent reports on our visitor?"  
  
"Yes, sir," came the response in stereo.  
  
"And?"  
  
Lisa and Claudia exchanged a glance, then Lisa took the lead. "Sir, I believe we have no choice but to accept what he has told us at face value. He knows things there is no way anyone would know about me. about the SDF-1 in General, and certain crew members in specific sir."  
  
Claudia then stepped in. "In the long run, what we believe doesn't really matter, sir. Once Ontario sector rescinded its offer, we have no way of putting him off the ship even if we wanted to. Our only decision has to be if we trust him, or confine him to the brig until this is over one way or another."  
  
Lisa took the next part. "Also, from Petty Officer Bibat's reports, he has not tried to pry for information, nor to engage in any sort of activity that could possibly be considered espionage. We both feel that Col. Maistroff's assertions are invalid and a knee jerk response. We both feel that believing him is no riskier a proposition than promoting Lt. Hunter to the CAG (2) slot."  
  
Gloval grimaced at that. The decision to promote said Lt. had been another heated debate, since there were several squadron CO's with more seniority. None of them, however, had Lt. Hunter's combination of piloting skill and raw leadership ability. "But what do you think we should DO with him?" he prodded.  
  
"He's not a member of our military, sir. We suggest asking him what he wants to do."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Gloval looked across his desk at the wanderer and deliberately drew a few more drags from his pipe before speaking. Micheal was dressed casually, in a loud Hawaiian print shirt and jeans, but sat patiently and respectfully. In a way, Gloval wished Micheal had been much more arrogant about being right, as it would have made Gloval's decision much easier.  
  
Finally, Gloval put his pipe down. "Mr. Thunders. I understand you have been talking to Dr. Lang about your vehicle?"  
  
"Yes, Captain. Unfortunately, I believe that I have no way of replacing two critical components at this time."  
  
Gloval simply nodded his head at that. "And you wish to remain aboard." He made it a statement rather than a question.  
  
"Actually, Captain, neither you nor I have a choice in the matter. As soon as you finish loading supplies, you are going to be ordered back out into space, with the citizenry of Macross still aboard, in hopes of distracting the Zentraedi fleet's attention away from Earth. No one is going to be allowed off the SDF-1 until the war is over."  
  
"A war which your advice will help us win?" Gloval asked.  
  
Micheal blinked for a moment before replying. "Seeing as how no one believes me, I rather doubt it. And to be honest, I can't blame you for that. Seriously, Captain, even if I offered to tell you what to do from now till the war is over, would you believe me?"  
  
"Do you honestly expect me to risk the lives of Sixty thousand civilians on the word of someone who claims this is all a Saturday morning cartoon?" Gloval retorted.  
  
"No sir. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I could change things if I tried. Hell, I'm not even certain I *SHOULD* try." Micheal admitted.  
  
Gloval nodded at that. "Very well. Now that that is out of the way, You are right in and of the fact that everyone aboard this ship is remaining so for the foreseeable future. Given that, what did you intend to do?"  
  
Micheal met his gaze with an earnest look. "Sir, ever since I was a child, I've always wanted to fly a Veritech."  
  
Gloval met his gaze with a look of shock. "Do you realize how preposterous that sounds?" Micheal nodded his head in response. "Then what makes you think I would allow you into a Veritech?"  
  
"I was one of the best pilots in my home fica, Captain. And I know that the SDF-1 always needed pilots. But I'm not asking you to take my word for it. All I'm asking for is for a chance to prove it to you."  
  
Gloval picked up his pipe and knocked the ashes from the bowl. "Very well then. I'll give you your chance."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"I tell ya, Max. If I had totally realized that they were giving me the wing instead of just Roy's plane, I might have turned them down." The new CAG of the SDF-1 was, as usual, feeling unsure of himself. With the recent loss of both his 'big brother' as well as Ben Dixon, Lt. Hunter was uncertain about his command abilities. His audience of one, Lt. Sterling, just smiled his shy smile and adjusted his glasses.  
  
"I dunno, Skipper. But I do know that Gloval wouldn't have given you the job if he didn't think you could handle it. Besides, like a certain squadron commander pointed out to me not long ago. You never turn down a promotion. If you do, The Powers That Be will never offer you another one." The two officers had been spending more time in meetings than any pilot ever wanted too, all with the single purpose of briefing Rick on the present status of the air wing. They were taking a shortcut through the Pilot Candidate section on their way from one meeting to another when they heard the groans of a bunch of cadets through a half open briefing room door.  
  
A glance inside told the tale clearly enough; the cadets were participating in a simulated squadron sized operation. As usual, the squadron was getting a massive dose of humility in the process as well. Half a dozen cadets had already been 'killed out' of the mission, and from the looks of the 'god' screen in the briefing room the lone attacker had just gotten two more as well. Max just shook his head at that; it was common occurrence early on in training. Beside him, Rick narrowed his eyes for a moment at the representation of the lone attacker, then whispered quietly to Max.  
  
"Isn't that the battle-suit you fought to a standstill inside the ship?" Max gave the attacker a second look before nodding in agreement. Before he could ask what was on Rick's mind, Rick had grabbed him by the elbow and all but dragged him to the simulator control room next door.  
  
Inside the control room were the two people Rick had expected to see, namely Staff Sargent Hutchinson and Lt. 'Skip' Tyler. Lt. Tyler had lost most of his right leg during the initial encounter with the Zentraedi; now grounded, he was in charge of the simulator complex. "Hey, Skip. who's your ringer this time?" Rick asked. Lt. Tyler and SSGT Hutchinson had a long history of tapping current pilots to fly missions against the cadets; Rick still recalled the time Roy had taken a lone officer's battle-pod and cleaned Cadet Hunter's squadron's collective clocks.  
  
"Howdy, CAG. What tipped ya off?" SSG Hutchinson asked in his backwoods Maine drawl.  
  
"Your 'aggressor' is flying like a VT in fighter mode," Rick replied as the last two Cadets fell to the 'aggressors' weapons.  
  
"Would you believe a potential candidate?" Skip asked as SSGT Hutchinson ordered the 'aggressor' to proceed to a set of co-ordinates and hold for instructions.  
  
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Rick replied in astonishment.  
  
"No fooling, CAG. Word from on high came down to run this joker through a flight aptitude screening. He tore through the canned missions like white on rice, so Ben and I set up one of our infamous cross-links. He saw battle-pods; they saw that new model that Lt. Sterling faced a couple of weeks ago."  
  
Rick grinned at the two simulator operators. "What do you say we give him a real challenge then?"  
  
SSGT Hutchinson grinned right back at Rick. "If'n ya'll strap into numbers one and two, we'll run him through a simulated trap and shoot while you two get spun up."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Col. Maistroff exploded. "You're actually going to allow that. that THING in the cockpit of a fighter? What's next? The enemy decides to defect because of Minmei's songs?"  
  
"That will be ALL, COLONEL!" Gloval thundered, rising to his feet and smacking a fist on his desk. "I did not ask for opinions, I am informing everyone of what has been decided. One more word out of you on this subject and you will find yourself a guest in your own brig!"  
  
Shaken (but still quite stirred up ^_^), Maistroff sat back down and remained silent. Gloval ignored him and returned his attention to the other senior officers. "In this case, the risks outweigh the benefits. There are currently only two active duty pilots who outperformed our visitor in the simulators, Lt.'s Hunter and Sterling. Given our constant need for pilots, it would be against our best interests not to put this man in the air. In addition, there are certain benefits to having him enlist as well."  
  
"Such as being able to order him to 'Keep his big mouth shut' sir?" Claudia observed.  
  
"Exactly. In addition, we don't have to come up with an explanation why Macross' population has again increased by one."  
  
+++++  
  
(1) Once again, Elsa appears courtesy of herself.  
  
(2) CAG: Commander Air Group. The person responsible for the operations of all embarked aircraft. 


	6. Turnabout

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 6: Turnabout  
  
Rick Hunter fixed his new pilot with a look most often associated with someone who has found their pet cat had left half a mouse on their pillow. again. "Tell me this again, from the top?"  
  
"I'm your new training and safety officer, Sir," Micheal replied. "Capt. Micheal 'Muck' Thunders, USAF."  
  
"Right." Rick was clearly unconvinced, but motioned for Muck to continue.  
  
"Captain Gloval requested a ground attack specialist to train your people in ways to successfully attack Zentraedi ships. They sent me."  
  
"So, why were you in the hospital that day?"  
  
"I had a small accident when I arrived on board. The doctors just returned me to flight status," Muck replied, smothering a grin. He'd always believed misdirection was better than an outright lie. Plus, it was much easier to keep one's facts straight that way.  
  
Rick wasn't very happy about this turn of events, but didn't have a good enough reason to ground his new pilot, given the chronic shortage of able pilots. "That was quite a show you put on in the simulator yesterday. Mind telling me why they all thought you were a civilian?"  
  
"I wouldn't know sir. Probably because I was in civvies, sir. Anything else, sir?" Micheal replied in his best new recruit voice.  
  
Rick gave him a cold look. "You're records impressive enough, but you're not qualified in carrier operations. You'll be qualifying tomorrow. You'll ride in the backseat with me for five traps. Then we switch seats and you make 5 traps before making 5 solo traps. Once you've qualified, you'll be making two four-hour hops a day, in between your other duties. Any questions?"  
  
"No Sir!"  
  
"Be in Skull's ready room at 08:00. Dismissed," Rick snapped, and Micheal made an about face and beat feet. Rick sighed to himself and turned back to the dossier in front of him when the hatch to his quarters chimed again. "Enter," he called with a sigh and the hatch slid back open to admit Max Sterling, who was looking back over his shoulder with a look of bemusement.  
  
"Hey, skipper? Isn't that the guy that almost got ya in the simulator yesterday?" Max asked, turning his attention back to his CO.  
  
Rick sighed and leaned back in his chair. "More like he would have if you hadn't nailed him with that missile spread. Nice shooting, by the way," he admitted.  
  
Max rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "Aww, I wouldn't have gotten him if he hadn't been fixated on you, boss. So, they've bumped him out of flight school already?"  
  
Rick sighed. "Nope, he never was IN flight training. Apparently, he's our new TSO, on loan from the air force."  
  
"Why?" Max wondered aloud.  
  
"He's a ground attack specialist. Apparently, Gloval asked for one to come up with a way for us to take out enemy ships with the Veritechs."  
  
Max replied with a low whistle. "Risky, but if he's as good at attack missions as he was in the simulator, we might just have a chance. Is he checked out yet?"  
  
"Except for carrier ops. I'll qual him myself tomorrow."  
  
Max stared at Rick for a moment. "Fifteen traps in one day? Remind me not to get on your bad side!"  
  
Rick sighed. "It's not that, Max. We're fighting for everyone in Macross City here. If he can't take the stress I need to know as soon as possible."  
  
Max shook his head at that. "Why'd they wait so long?"  
  
Rick sighed. "They just cleared him for flight duty. Said he had an accident right after he came aboard."  
  
Max snapped his fingers. "That's right, he did. He managed to come racing down the hanger deck of Prometheus and piled into a plane tractor." Rick stared open mouthed at Max, who suddenly blushed. "It was the day you flew Minmei to visit her folks. Ben and I had just come back from patrol and."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Micheal 'Muck' Thunders was already suited up, a cup of coffee in his hand, when Rick arrived in the Skull's ready room. Quietly, he remained standing, though he came to attention as the rest of the squadron took seats and the general noise level dropped dramatically as Rick started to address the squadron. "All right people. We're on Bar-cap today from 12:00 to 15:00. Until then, We're the alert-15 squadron (1). If you need anything, take it up with Max. I'll be unavailable for most of the day." Rick then pointed to the Muck. "This is Capt. 'Muck' Thunders, our new TSO. I'll be qualifying him for carrier ops today, which is why I'll be unavailable. Any questions?" With no questions, Rick got ready to step down. "All right. Max has your plane assignments," Rick finished, and turned the podium over to Max.  
  
Micheal handed Rick a sheaf of paper as Rick walked up. "Flight plan and plane report, skipper. We're assigned trainer 201 and a 'Kid Driver' call sign."  
  
Rick nodded non-committaly as he looked through the documentation. "You filled out this flight plan yourself?"  
  
"With Lt. Sterling's help, sir."  
  
Rick nodded, then signed the papers. "Ok then, 'Muck'. Let's get you qualified, then."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Kid Driver 201, Turn final and call the ball."  
  
"201. 1-D manual Ball, fuel 7(2)," Muck reported as the Veritech turned towards the Prometheus' flight deck.  
  
In the back seat of the two-seat training bird, Rick shifted slightly to relieve the stiffness in his backside as he continued to monitor their approach. He was glad that this was his final trap in the backseat; he was also certain that Muck wasn't looking forward to having to make 5 more solo traps. Still, Muck was sliding towards his fifth trap aboard Prometheus with the same precision as his first when the wave-off call came over the radio.  
  
"201, Wave-off, wave-off, wave-off!" the LSO called even as the 'ball' was replaced with a red X of lights. Rick grabbed for the controls, but Muck was already reacting. Kid Driver 201 was very close to the deck; too close, in Rick's opinion, for a normal wave-off. Muck seemed to sense that as well; instead of trying to pull up he increased the throttles to full power. Momentum kept Kid Driver 201 headed for the deck, but the added thrust carried it clear of the arresting gear before touching down; 201 roared down the deck and back out into space.  
  
"201 has bolted and is clear of the deck," Muck radioed back to approach control. "Request vector to marshal (3). Oh, and the skipper would probably like to know why the deck went foul so close to a trap."  
  
"How'd ya guess?" Rick chortled over the inter-phone.  
  
"Cause I wanna know too, Skipper," Muck replied in the same laconic drawl he had used since taking the front seat, unaffected by the wave-off.  
  
"Kid Driver 201, Mother. Vector to marshal one five zero by one nine zero, 20 miles. Say fuel," Approach Control called over the radio, breaking into the conversation.  
  
"Mother, Kid Driver 201. Fuel 6.5, coming to one five zero by one nine zero. Any word on the deck yet?"  
  
"Negative, 201. XO wants you on button one though."  
  
"Roger that, 201 is off button nine for button one. 201 out."  
  
A very irate Lisa Hayes appeared on the center screen in both cockpits as soon as Muck switched comm channels. She didn't even wait for Muck to call in. all in all a very bad sign in Rick's opinion.  
  
"What the deuce did you think you were doing, 201?" Lisa demanded. "You were waved-off. That means pull up and return to marshal for another approach, mister!"  
  
"Negative, Ma'am. I was past commit, and if I had tried a normal wave off I probably would have caught a wire and had a mid-air engagement," Muck replied calmly. Sitting in the back seat, Rick didn't know if he should try and step in and defend his new pilot, or hope to stay out of the crossfire; the look on Lisa's face was one that had skewered HIM more than once.  
  
"And if the deck was foul because a piece of gear had rolled into the way, you would have wrecked that plane!" Lisa's gaze shifted slightly and Rick suddenly knew what was next. "I expected better out of a pilot you were checking out, Commander." Lisa's tone was that one normally used when talking to a child who should know better, but decided to do something wrong anyway.  
  
"He made the right choice, Lisa," Rick sighed, knowing that sooner or later he was going to hear about this, quite extensively. "He shouldn't have been waved off that close to begin with, but he reacted almost as well as I would have."  
  
Lisa's cheeks reddened, but Rick didn't know if it was out of shame or anger. "All right, Hunter. But I want to talk to you after your done," she snapped before cutting the circuit.  
  
"Mother, Kid Driver 201 off button one for button nine, Out," Muck sighed over the radio.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Rick followed Muck out of the cockpit of 201 while the plane crew refueled it. Slapping the older pilot on the shoulder, Rick hid his own stiffness at being in the cockpit and smiled. "Ready for your solo traps, Muck?"  
  
Muck reached for the ceiling in a long stretch before answering. "Of course, skipper. Can't let you RDF types think the USAF is a bunch of wimps, after all," he replied with a smile.  
  
"We'll try not to hold your mud mover past against you," Rick replied, the twinkle in his eye betraying that he was teasing Muck. "Nice reaction on that wave-off too. Not SOP, but you were right about it being your only choice. Where'd a mud mover like you learn that?"  
  
"Promise not to laugh me out of the wing, skipper?"  
  
"Only if you stop dodging the issue and tell me."  
  
"Ireaditinabookonce," Muck mumbled.  
  
"You What?" Rick demanded, totally surprised by the revelation.  
  
"I read it in a book. The Intruders, by Steven Koontz. Same thing happened to the hero, only he pulled a normal wave off and hooked a wire mid air." Muck's embarrassment blazed across his cheeks as his hands pantomimed what had happened to that unfortunate, forcing Rick to smile and let his new pilot off the hook.  
  
"You did good anyway. Now get up there and get those last 5 traps, Muck. I'll monitor you from the bridge."  
  
"Aye aye, skipper. And good luck with the XO." Muck replied. Rick rolled his eyes at that before turning away.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The look in Lisa's eyes when she turned after he announced himself only confirmed Rick's apprehensions. It was a look he remembered all to well from his first ill advised comment about sourpusses, a certain embarrassing, yet totally innocent, accident during his first leave. and more times after that than he cared to remember!  
  
"Well, Commander? I'm waiting." Lisa demanded in a rather astringent tone.  
  
"Jeez, Commander! His reactions were spot-on. If he'd tried a normal wave off that close in, he probably would have caught a wire in flight and damaged the plane," Rick sighed, wondering how many times he was going to have to repeat himself on this one.  
  
"And totally ignored standard procedures in doing so! I wonder what hot shot CAG told him to do that!" Lisa replied hotly.  
  
"I didn't have a thing to do with it, Lisa! I was in the back-seat, and he reacted before I could even touch the controls, let alone tell him what to do!" Without realizing it, Rick began to match Lisa in tone and volume. "And in this case, the book is wrong!"  
  
"What do you mean, the book is wrong! Those procedures were developed by the best minds on earth to insure your safety!"  
  
"And they most certainly didn't take into account landing on a carrier in space! Heck, the carriers weren't even part of the SDF-1 originally, and 'the book' has never been updated to cover space carrier operations!"  
  
As the argument continued to build, the normal operation of the bridge began to stop and center on Rick and Lisa, forcing Gloval to step in. Coughing loudly enough to interrupt whatever Lisa was about to say, he drew the attention of both combatants. "Commanders, please. While this discussion might be important, it's disrupting what needs to be done. I'm certain we can handle things for a few minutes while you two finish this discussion off the bridge." At that, Lisa's cheeks reddened as she hung her head in embarrassment.  
  
"Go on, Lisa," Claudia encouraged gently. "We can handle it."  
  
"That's right ma'am," the ever-irrepressible Sammy added. "But it's almost impossible to keep track of everything over all the shouting."  
  
Only Vanessa's attention was not on the pair. Instead, she leaned closer to her comm console. "Kid Driver 201, say again."  
  
The voice coming over the speaker distracted Lisa for a moment. "Prometheus control, Kid Driver 201. Request permission to start engines and push."  
  
"Roger, 201. You're cleared to start engines. Follow your handler to the elevator, then to cat one for launch," Vanessa replied calmly. Lisa fixed Rick with a hard look, then grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him off the bridge, waiting until the bridge hatch closed before resuming their 'discussion'.  
  
"You're sending him back out? So soon?" Lisa asked with a troubled expression. While not a flight officer herself, she still knew that most pilots only made 5 traps a day during flight quals.  
  
"Uh huh. He still needs five solo traps to finish his quals. Why, is there a problem?"  
  
"Don't you think that's excessively risky to both pilot and plane?"  
  
"Not really. but its no picnic out there in a fighter, Lisa. If he can't handle the stress, I need to know before he gets someone hurt. If he can handle this, he can handle anything the Zentraedi throw at us."  
  
"That's still no reason to risk the resource he represents, Hunter!"  
  
"Jeez, Lisa! What are you getting so worked up about? He's only a ground attack pilot. they're a dime a dozen back on earth!"  
  
"Not this one. Hunter, there is something about your new pilot I think you should know."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck had just gotten out of the shower and was trying to work up the energy needed to pull on his uniform when Max stuck his head into the locker room. "Hey, Muck. The skipper wants to see you in his cabin, ASAP. And he's not in a good mood."  
  
"Oh man. wonder what I did now," Muck sighed. "OK. Thanks, Max. Tell him I'll be there as soon as I get my uniform on." Max nodded and ducked back out as Muck reached into his locker.  
  
Five minutes later, Muck was standing at attention in front of a clearly upset Rick Hunter. Rick eyed him up and down before speaking. "I just got done with a very interesting conversation with Commander Hayes, 'Captain' Thunders. In light of that, is there anything in here that you would like to explain?" Rick tapped Muck's service record in emphasis.  
  
"Is there anything specific you would like to know, skipper?" Muck replied, eyeing Max cautiously.  
  
"How about you take it from the top. And don't worry about Lt. Sterling. As my XO, he has the right to know everything I know."  
  
"Well sir. Basically, that service record there is accurate. They just changed a few dates to cover the fact that my active duty was 10 years ago and several dimensions away."  
  
"Why? And why wasn't I told?"  
  
"Because it was easier than creating a whole new fake history for me, skipper. As far as your not being told right away, you'd have to ask the Captain or the XO, sir."  
  
At that Rick sighed and relented slightly. "Ok, at ease. You do realize this sounds like something out of a 'B' movie, don't you?"  
  
"How do you think I feel, Skipper? It's not only a 'B' movie, but nobody ever bothered to give me a copy of the script!"  
  
Max grinned at Muck's pained expression, and that was what finally swayed Rick. Chucking the service record back onto his desk Rick sighed. "So, what am I supposed to do with you? Let you run the air group through me like a puppet on a string?"  
  
"No sir. I'm supposed to be just another pilot under your command. except that I've got more ground target and anti-ship experience than anyone else aboard."  
  
"Which is why you're supposedly the TSO?"  
  
"Right, sir."  
  
"Can the sirs. at least in private, OK Muck?"  
  
"You got it, Skipper."  
  
"I wouldn't mind seeing a bit of proof you're really who and what they say you are." Rick noted, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"Well, Fred's still locked up off the Prometheus hanger deck. I can introduce you to him if the Captain okays it."  
  
"Why does the Captain need to okay it?" Rick pried.  
  
"Because otherwise I won't be allowed in. I don't think anyone in high command trusts me, really."  
  
"Huh. Can't say as I blame them, Muck. Anyway, Skull's got the early patrol tomorrow, and you're with Max and I. Get out of here and get some rest."  
  
"Aye aye, Skipper." With that, Muck turned and exited the cabin. Max waited till the hatch closed before continuing the conversation.  
  
"Two days ago, he'd never even been in a Veritech, and now you're putting him in with us? Talk about throwing him in with the sharks, Rick!"  
  
"He can handle it. if what Lisa told me is true. Did ya look at those landing tapes like I asked, Max?"  
  
"Yup. If he wasn't a ground attack pilot, I'd say dub him Iceman. He's almost as good in the cockpit as I am."  
  
"What about the wave off?"  
  
"Someone noticed a kink in the number three arresting cable at the last second. they were afraid it was gonna part if you hooked it. And that close in, he reacted the way I would have. and he doesn't have near the hours in type as you and I do."  
  
"Would you believe he got the idea from a book?"  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Nope. He told me as much. Said the hero pulled a standard wave off in the book and hooked a wire mid-air."  
  
Max whistled at that. "Good way to bend an airframe. Still, that doesn't explain how he got so good so fast with a V-tech."  
  
"I asked Lisa about that. She said Lang looked at his synchro rate from that day in the simulator and freaked. Something about his almost literally becoming one with his plane."  
  
Max looked off into space for a moment before replying. "If that's true, then he might be almost as good as we are. Only one way to prove it, though."  
  
"Yup, and if the Zentraedi accommodate us, we'll know by the time we get back tomorrow. Go get some rest, Max."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Skull, Strike. Bogeys bearing 307 by 310 range blue(4). Intercept and identify," came the voice over the radio, shifting Rick's brain out of autopilot.  
  
"Raja, Strike." Rick replied before switching to the squadron net. "On your toes, skulls. Customers at 307 by 310. Max, you and two flight with me. Muck, take three flight and the high cover slot." Two almost bored rajas echoed over the radio as Skull squadron turned and blue thruster flares filled space. As they did, four of the fighters maneuvered slightly to the rear and 'above' the rest.  
  
"One, Two, Judy. I make it 36, even mix of pods, heavies, and tri's.(5)"  
  
"Raja, two. Break. Strike, Skull. Judy on bandits, engaging. Break. Three, keep those fighters off of us while we take out the rest." Rick's voice remained calm, even as the adrenaline began to flow.  
  
"Raja, One," by comparison, though, Muck's voice sounded almost machine like. "Three-two, pincer right on my break call." In 12 cockpits, tracking rings turned red as the Veritechs entered range and their missiles acquired the targets. "Three flight, fire and break," Muck called as missiles erupted from the lead fighters.  
  
As the missiles drove in on their targets, the dozen tri-thruster fighters surged forward in an attempt to intercept the oncoming missiles and fighters. Space began to blossom with the spherical flashes of missile detonations, and then the Veritechs were amongst them. Plasma guns and lasers began to fire, only to fall silent as the four birds of Three flight slashed in from both sides. The tri thrusters pitched up to engage, and the others were past, and space became a swirl of mecha and fired ammunition. Pods and fighters jinked and banked, maneuvering for position; a twisting, turning affair that invariably ended with one of the combatants exploding in a fireball.  
  
The comm channels fell silent, as the combat became a knife fight, with little time to think and no time to pass instructions over the radio. Ranges and reaction times were to short for missiles, and the Veritechs fought on with gun and laser.  
  
The battlepod Rick was chasing went up in a ball of flame, and he checked his radar for the next. Not seeing any, he opened his comm channel. "Strike, Skull one. Bogey dope."  
  
"Skull one, Strike. Clear scope," came the reply. "Report status."  
  
"Wait one, Strike. Break. Skull one to skulls, fence check."  
  
"Skull 12, 2 missiles, no damage."  
  
"Skull 14, 3 missiles, right engine at 75."  
  
"Two flight, one EV, two damaged, winchester missiles"  
  
"Three flight, 3 damaged, 4 missiles"  
  
"Strike, Skull. Two down, one EV. 6 damaged. 12 to winchester"  
  
"Raja Skull. Ghostrider is ETA 15. RTB once relieved on station."  
  
"Raja, strike. Skull out."  
  
++++++++++  
  
(1) Bar-Cap: Barrier Combat Air Patrol. The unit patrols at a set distance from the ship to intercept attackers. Alert-15: The squadron is ready to launch in 15 minutes or less.  
  
(2) More carrier jargon for you. This gives the controller all the important info he needs. Type of plane (VF-1d), the pilot can see the visual approach cues (or 'Ball'), is in manual control of the plane, and has 7000 pounds of fuel on board.  
  
(3) Marshal: A certain point in the recovery pattern where planes wait for their turn to make their landing approach to the carrier.  
  
(4) Range (color): A way of reporting range without giving away critical information. Blue=150 miles, Green=100, Yellow=50, and Red=25. Also roughly equivalent to the areas of each Bar-cap assignment.  
  
(5) Shorthand for various types of Zentraedi mecha. Pods are standard battlepods, heavies carry two heavy missiles on top, and Tri's are the tri thruster fighter mecha. 


	7. Bystanders

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 7: Bystanders  
  
With the SDF-1 back in space for almost a month, resentment at being forced off earth had faded, and now had been replaced with anticipation of Lynn Minmei's first movie release "Little White Dragon". Once the date of the premier was known, there was much wheeling and dealing amongst the crew, as everyone tried to re-arrange their positions on the watch-bill to be able to be there. Those that succeeded praised their luck, while those who didn't cursed it, and those who were indifferent cleaned up by offering to swap. in exchange for something, of course.  
  
One of the handfuls of people who weren't caught up in all the hoopla looked up from his terminal at his visitor.  
  
"I thought you scored those tickets to try and impress that bridge officer you were hot on, Max," Muck observed.  
  
"Yeah, but she canceled because I could only get two," Max admitted. "So, I thought I'd get the skipper out of here and get him to relax for a while."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I couldn't get a jeep from the motor pool, so I was kinda hoping you and Fred could give us a lift. Besides, I have my next move ready for him."  
  
"Ha!" interrupted a third voice, this one coming from a speakerphone on the desk. "I bet I know what it is, and its still mate in six, Max." Max and Fred had hit it off since being introduced, and Max had decided to teach Fred chess, pointing out that talking computers ALWAYS knew hot to play chess. Muck had conceded the point without argument, since it had kept both of them out of his hair.  
  
Muck had to admit that the last month had been a mixed blessing. Lang had convinced Capt. Gloval to release Fred from impound, and had the torn of wheel repaired. He had also received permission to let Fred tie into the ship's comm net. The downside was frequently being asked if he could give someone a lift. usually when he was deep in thought about how to take out a Zentraedi capitol ship with just Veritechs, like now.  
  
"Ok, you win," he sighed, throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Besides I wasn't getting anywhere anyway. Maybe a night out will help clear my mind."  
  
"Still hung up on the payload problem?" Max inquired.  
  
"Yeah. The models now in production just can't carry enough; the ship-killers or HARMs (1) take up all the pylons, leaving only the gun pod for self-defense."  
  
"The new 200 block models have the nose lasers, you know," Max pointed out as Muck stood up and stretched.  
  
"Yeah, but that's still not enough when the best odds we see is four to one. Given the attack profile we'd have to use, 400 to one is more like it; and that makes it suicide without more missiles for self defense," Muck grimaced as muscles protested and a couple of joints popped. "I definitely need to get out of here. Let me change and I'll meet you and the skipper at Fred, ok?"  
  
"You got it, Muck."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Macross City, with its roots as a military town even before its 'relocation', had always been a very orderly place; It's drivers were as a rule polite and well mannered, with traffic only piling up as a result of the rare accident. Tonight, however, between the number of people trying to get into the premier as well as the street closures to accommodate the limousines for the 'A-list', traffic was at a virtual stand-still. The three pilots lucked out when Muck was able to snag a parking spot perhaps six blocks from the theater, still, Max and Rick found themselves wincing for a moment as the normally phlegmatic Muck cut off a pair of other cars to claim it.  
  
"Phulease!!!" protested Muck as the other two let out exaggerated sighs of relief. "We make a patrol 5 days out of 7, not counting all hand sorties, get shot at about half the time, then come home to a carrier landing and you complain about my driving?"  
  
Max chuckled as he got out of the back seat. "Its cause riding with you gives one a much more intimate view of oncoming disaster," the blue haired pilot teased.  
  
"The only thing closer is riding backseat in a Cat's eye," Rick agreed. "Cause you know you have no control over what the guy at the stick is doing."  
  
"There was a good 3 inches of clearance. If I thought he wasn't going to make it, I would have switched to over-ride," Fred's voice observed from the dashboard.  
  
"Uh huh. And who was it who splattered themselves all over the hanger deck on arrival?" Max teased.  
  
"That wasn't our fault!" Muck and Fred replied in unison. "We were still half blind from shooting the portal."  
  
Max chuckled as he got out of Fred. "Yeah, sure you were."  
  
Muck glared at the other two as he came around to the curb, causing Rick to throw up his hands in mock surrender. "Ok, ok, We give up. Any idea as to where are you going to be after the show?"  
  
"I dunno. I was thinking about swinging by Close Encounters for a while."  
  
"Take it easy on him, ok? He was swearing up and down he was going to make the place off limits to pilots after the last time." Rick observed.  
  
"Why would he do that? We're some of his best customers." Muck replied innocently.  
  
"Speak for yourself," Max observed, causing Rick to glare at him. "Frankie shudders every time he sees me come through the door."  
  
"Ok, skipper," Muck relented. "I think I might head over to the park and watch the stars for a while."  
  
"You see the stars every time we're out on patrol," Max noted.  
  
"That's work. This is fun," Muck replied.  
  
"Leave the man alone Max," Rick sighed. "If we don't hurry, we're going to miss the pre-show festivities."  
  
"Aye aye, Skipper," Max agreed jovially.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Miriya Parino stalked down the nearly empty street, an angry expression on her face mirroring her inner turmoil. She had been certain of her ability to get past the large micronian male guarding the door of the meeting hall, yet he had seemed immune to her facial contortions. With another defeat at the hands of a micronian, she was suddenly filled with doubt as to her ability to complete her self-assigned mission. Had she done the facial contortion wrong? If she had, how could she remain undetected amongst the population if she couldn't at least outwardly behave like one of them? How was she to find her prey if she couldn't get into the gathering to reward him?  
  
Yet another indignity suddenly inflicted itself upon her; she was so wrapped up in her inner turmoil that she didn't see the micronian step out of the doorway until she had collided with him. The collision knocked her from her feet while her victim had the gall to remain standing. Furthermore, he didn't even seem to have noticed her yet; he was looking at his uniform, where the force of their meeting had caused some sort of brown beverage to slop from the container in his hand all over him. (2)  
  
"I should have known," the stranger was muttering to himself. "I finally find a place that makes a decent mocha latte and I get to wear it instead of drink it." He knocked her from her feet, and now all he is worried about was that his beverage spilled? To Miriya, this was one insult to many, and she lunged to her feet, fully intending to rip out the throat of this insolent micronian with her bare hands! Her eyes narrowed as her movements finally drew the micronian's attention, only to open wide in shock as he addressed her by name?  
  
"Miriya Parino? What are you doing here? I thought you're supposed to be at the premier this episode." This revelation froze her in her tracks, as her mind raced, trying to understand the implications of it all. How could he know her name? She was fairly certain that she had mentioned it to no one since her arrival. Could the micronians know about her mission? Had she compromised herself somehow? Was she about to be detained? Clearly this micronian was waiting for an answer, though. perhaps she could yet escape this trap and continue her mission? She quickly formed an alternate plan, and instead used a different set of facial contortions, one that caused liquid to seep from the corners of her eyes, and based on the historical records she had seen displayed in certain places tended to cause micronian males to be very responsive to one's demands. This male also reacted, but not in the way she expected.  
  
"Oh jeez. Not the tears. Anything but the tears," he sighed, then grabbed her by the arm, startling her. "Come on. I think I know how to fix this," he declared, pulling her down the street before she could figure out how to react. They had gone perhaps a dozen feet before he suddenly turned and entered one of the stores. A wave of noise washed over Miriya, stopping her in her tracks. She didn't even notice that the impertinent micronian had let go of her hand.  
  
She stood near the center of a large open space; yet it felt almost as claustrophobic as her first set of quarters aboard the Quadrano's battle cruiser. It stretched for two levels above her and every square inch of the place was filled with micronians of every size and shape. Most sat at strange machines which made large amounts of noises of all kinds, while others watched or wandered about looking for a machine of their own. Her attention snapped to the machine nearest her, where one of the very small micronians sat. The machine had just emitted a loud whooping noise very reminiscent of the general quarter's alert, and now a jingling sound followed. Hypnotized, she took a step closer and saw that the jingling noise was made by the dropping of a large number of small round circles of a golden color pouring from the machine and into a tray that was placed there to catch them. The young micronian made a yelp of triumph, then stood taking the tray and heading deeper into the space. Curious, she followed, and the small micronian led her to a large counter behind which were all sorts of strange objects who's purpose was not readily apparent to the Quadrano ace.  
  
The micronian that had brought her to this place was there as well; arguing with a rather large specimen that wore his hair in one of the oddest styles Miriya had ever seen. The sides of his head were shaved bare, except for a large strip in the center which poked straight up and had been dyed many colors. This imposing specimen also wore a pair of dark glasses over his eyes, to protect them from the garish lights of the glowing displays arrayed all over the walls, she assumed. His companion, a slim stick figure of a micronian detached himself from the conversation and walked over to the micronian she had followed. The tray was exchanged for one of the unfathomable items behind the counter, and the micronian midget vanished into the crowd.  
  
When she turned back to the micronian that had brought her here, the imposing micronian he had been arguing with was just turning back from the wall behind the counter. In his hands was an envelope, which he passed to her. Assailant? Benefactor? She put aside that concern and leaned closer to eavesdrop on the conversation.  
  
"Since its Elsa we're talking about, I'll do it," the imposing micronian sighed; passing the envelope to the one whom had brought her here. "But as Elsa's friend, do me a favor? Don't come back for at least a month, Muck. It takes me at least that long to recoup my losses every time I see your ugly mug."  
  
"Since its Elsa, not only do you have a deal, but I'll try and sidetrack Max as well," 'Muck' replied; this drew a snort from the larger one.  
  
"If you can keep Max out of here for a month I'll GIVE you the damn machine," he declared.  
  
"If you did, I wouldn't have any reason to hang around here, Blinko," Muck teased.  
  
"A man can dream, can't he? Get out of here. your scaring the customers," the imposing 'Blinko' growled with a facial expression that didn't match the tone of his voice before turning away.  
  
"Ah, there you are, Miriya. Here you go one ticket to the premier of 'Little White Dragon'. Have fun." the redheaded Muck declared, extending the envelope to the still shocked Quadrano. Uncertain of what she should do, Miriya grabbed the envelope tightly, then turned and ran from the bewildering place, silently vowing to return later and learn more about this place that seemingly gave away things in exchange for worthless bits of metal. Behind her, un-noticed, Muck smiled to himself and made his way to the entrance of the arcade at a much more leisurely pace, wondering to himself where he might find a decent cup of tea.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Claudia Grant surveyed the almost deserted White Dragon Restaurant. While there was a sign outside promising a post-premiere party, there were few people present. She could easily have a table to herself, but recognizing a familiar shock of red hair near the back, decided that she didn't want to eat alone. It was, after all, the reason she had come down here after her watch. While she and Roy had eaten here often, the memory of his loss was muted by other memories of happier, sillier meals also held here with her fellow 'bridge bunnies'. Walking up to the booth, she coughed gently to get the occupants attention before asking, "Mind if I join you?"  
  
Muck looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. "Evening, Commander. By all means, have a seat."  
  
"Not much of a party," Claudia observed as she sat down.  
  
"Nihaio, Commander," the lavender haired waitress who had replaced Minmei interjected as she came over to the booth. "Lynn's cancel party because of transformation. Do you need a menu, or are you ready to order?"  
  
"Hello, Xian Pu. I'll have the number two combo plate and tea please," Claudia replied.  
  
"And Mr. Cheapskate? Are you ready to order, or do you want drink the rest of our tea first?" Xian Pu asked, turning to Muck.  
  
This bit of sarcasm earned her a glare before Muck answered. "Actually, I am ready to order. I'll have a beef bowl, please."  
  
"Very good, sir. I'll be back in a moment with more tea," Xian Pu replied, excusing herself.  
  
Claudia looked at the retreating waitress for a moment before turning back to Muck. "Just how long have you been here, Captain? Last time Xian Pu was that sarcastic was when someone insulted the cooking here."  
  
"Not long after the transformation was over. I really wasn't in a hurry to head back to base and sort of picked here to do some research."  
  
"Out of a comic book? It's a common myth about fighter jocks, but I never expected to see proof," Claudia noted in a light tone.  
  
"Well, Fred has a theory about that. He found a reference to a magic girl anime that was very similar to my last stop. He thinks that by scanning some of this stuff into storage we can be better informed about possible jump loci," Muck explained.  
  
"Silly me. And here I thought you came into town to see the premier."  
  
"Nope. Little White Dragon isn't exactly going anywhere, after all. Plenty of time to see it after the crowds die down, commander." The conversation was momentarily interrupted by the return of Xian Pu with a fresh pot of tea. As she set the pot down, she glared first at the comic book, then at Muck before retreating again without a word. Muck shuddered for a moment before observing, "That woman seriously does NOT like me. I also get the feeling she could seriously hurt me in a dark alley if she wanted too."  
  
It took the more observant Claudia that put the pieces together. "Its not you. its that comic book you're reading."  
  
"The comic? What could be so offensive about a fantasy story about a martial artist with a really strange curse?" Muck wondered.  
  
"You can always ask her when she comes back with the food."  
  
"I dunno. I have the feeling that could be taking my life in my hands. Why don't you ask her? I mean. I'm supposedly just a dime a dozen pilot, but your head of Ops. I don't think she'd break you in two without at least thinking about it first."  
  
Claudia scowled, but her eyes twinkled with laughter. "Why captain! Such a thing to say about a superior officer, not to mention a poor defenseless woman. And from someone with your background, to boot."  
  
"I'm undercover, remember?" Muck replied, a brooding look creeping across his face as he continued. "And it was never as cut and dried as children's TV shows or comic books would have you believe."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Oh. The closest comparison I can think of is being a VT pilot. It's not just the hours. People are depending on you for their very lives, Claudia. You HAVE to go out, and do the best you can, because you're the only one who can. And if you fail, they could die. If you're lucky, that failure will only cost you your life. Otherwise, you have to live with the fact that you weren't fast enough or smart enough, hell, just plain good enough to save them! You know that you can't win every time. and in the quiet moments before you drift off to sleep you wonder if tomorrow is going to be the day you drop the ball. You either become a loner, who doesn't let ANYONE into his life, or you live in absolute terror that someone will come after THEM to get to You." Muck let that last thought trail off into silence, his attention now riveted on the cup of tea in front of him.  
  
"Then why are you so intent on getting back there?" Claudia asked gently. "I know you're. companion and Lang have been trying to figure out a way to replace certain parts for months now."  
  
"I have a promise to keep. two now, actually. There was a woman, a fellow 'professional', you might say. We worked together, and right at the end, I sent her away, for her own safety. I promised her I would return to her."  
  
"The Red-Head in your wallet." Claudia's tone made it a statement, not a question.  
  
"Actually, No. I never had a picture of Jedi to keep with me. That's Patricia Haruna, and I will return to her, too."  
  
"You promised her you would return to her too? I don't see how you can keep both of those promises."  
  
"I do. I will find my way back home, and check that Jedi is still all right, then make my way back to Patricia."  
  
"But you still can't fix those broken components."  
  
"I will. Somehow. I have to believe, Commander. I just have too."  
  
The conversation was interrupted by Xian Pu's return with their food. Muck noted that her attitude towards him still had not thawed. "Um, Miss?" he ventured carefully, earning him an icy look. "May I ask what it is about my manga that you find so distasteful?"  
  
Xian Pu rolled her eyes before replying. "That stupid manga has caused us all sorts of trouble. I wish my husband had never started drawing it. He's a much better cook anyway."  
  
"Your husband is Mu Tsu?" Muck asked incredulously.  
  
"I wish he wasn't. Most of what happens in the story is made up, but I still get people trying to challenge me to steal me away, or coming around looking for Husband's autograph," Xian Pu sighed, exasperated.  
  
Muck calmly placed the offending manga on the bench next to him, out of sight. "My apologies, Xian Pu. I didn't know." He picked up a fork, and took a bite of his food. "And tell him that I agree that he is an excellent cook."  
  
This gained Muck a brilliant smile. "I will. Perhaps next time you might call ahead and try his Peking Duck." Xian Pu dropped the check on the table, and while the smile remained, there was some sort of evil joke glinting in her eyes.  
  
"And here you were worried about her hurting you," Claudia teased, between bites of food.  
  
"'Tis only my just desserts for forgetting the number one rule of my former 'profession'," Muck admitted with embarrassment.  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"Never assume ANYTHING about ANYONE." Claudia giggled at that, and for the moment the conversation tailed off into silence as they consumed the excellent cooking.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Can I give you a lift back to your quarters, Claudia?" Muck asked as he and Claudia left the White Dragon. "Fred is parked just around the corner."  
  
"Only if you promise that you don't have any ulterior motives. I've heard about your type." Claudia replied in a teasing tone.  
  
"Malicious Slander, Claudia. I always was one of the guys in the white hats. Chaste, virtuous pillar of the community ET all."  
  
"And then you became a fighter jock, with a much lower reputation," Claudia noted as Muck opened Fred's door for her.  
  
"What could be more noble than defending one's home, permanent or not?" Muck replied as he climbed behind the wheel.  
  
Claudia did not reply, suddenly becoming more interested in the streets of Macross as Muck pulled out and headed towards the base. They had covered half the distance in silence before they noted a couple strolling along the street.  
  
"There's Commanders Hayes and Hunter," Muck noted. "Shall we give them a lift?"  
  
"No," Claudia replied softly. "They look like they're enjoying themselves. Reality will intrude far too soon on its own."  
  
"You miss Roy, don't you. That's why you decided to come into town tonight. so you wouldn't be alone?"  
  
Claudia's head snapped around and fixed Muck with a harsh glare, before softening into something else. "And a Shrink on top of everything else. Are you certain that there's not a big red and yellow S on your chest under that uniform?"  
  
"I'm not THAT good." Muck rebutted.  
  
Claudia just turned away and stared back out the window. "How do you cope? Not knowing if you really will see either of them again?"  
  
"I have to have faith. As long as I believe it will happen, somehow, someway, it will. And you need to, too. You will be with Roy again, after all this is over."  
  
"I wish I could be as certain as you. We've been turned away from our home planet, facing thousand to one odds. How much more can we. I bear before it becomes to much?"  
  
"As much as you have to, Commander," Muck replied gently. "I know you miss him, but you have what it takes inside to keep his dreams alive. And you have friends, like the bridge crew, and Lisa, and even myself if you need a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear." Muck pulled up next to the hatch that lead to the elevators to bridge officer quarters. "This ship. this crew, all have something special about them. They thrive under pressures that would destroy most people. And so can you. You just have to trust in yourself."  
  
Claudia gave Muck a wan smile as she climbed out of FRED. "Goodnight, Captain Thunders."  
  
"Were you trying to give her a pep talk, or yourself?" Fred asked after Claudia had closed the door and Muck was headed towards the BOQ (3).  
  
"A little of both, Fred. A little of both."  
  
++++  
  
1) HARM = High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile. Used for taking out Radar installations.  
  
(2) Aww, come on, what did you expect of the Wanderer?  
  
(3) Bachelor Officers Quarters. 


	8. Fight of the Intruders

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 8: Fight of the Intruders  
  
Muck looked up as 'Sinker' Thompson ducked through the hatch into CIC. (1) Looking down at his watch, Muck gave a mock glower and noted, "Your five minutes late, Stinker. What was it this time; a blonde, a car or both?"  
  
"Both, of course. Why bother with a blonde who doesn't have a hot car, Muckster?" Sinker replied with a gloat.  
  
"You are TOTALLY incorrigible, Sinker. Now I know why the CAG saddled me with you." Muck sighed, and tossed a large book to his wingman. "Here's your SATOP (2), sucker. You have the watch. I'll be down at my plane if you get in over your head."  
  
"Aye aye, Cap'n. I have the CIC watch," Sinker acknowledged, his broad grin unwavering. Muck just ignored it and headed out the hatch. Sinker had earned his incorrigibility the hard way; he admitted to himself on the ride down to the Macross City level, with 65 missions and 30 kills to date. Still, it would be nice if he was on time for something other than flight duty once in a while.  
  
The hanger deck was in its usual state of controlled chaos when Muck arrived. Finding a parking space near the connector passage, he avoided most of the chaos by heading straight for the maintenance office. As expected, he found his plane captain, AM1 Grafton there, filling out yet another form in the endless chain of paperwork and other documentation that the plane captains swore were the real fuel of the RDF.  
  
"Yo, Jake. How's it look for flight testing tommorow?"  
  
"Everything's looking dialed-in, Cap'n. Mating tests are finished, so unless something falls off tonight, you're good to fly." As part of Muck's ongoing strike project, it was discovered that the simulators didn't have accurate data on the flight characteristics of a VT carrying several anti-ship missiles. The armory wasn't certain that they could even be mounted on a VT to boot, hence the present tests, using Muck's personal bird as a test bed.  
  
Mating tests were complete, proving that the specified weapon payload COULD be mounted successfully on a VT, and, as his plane captain noted, unless something broke overnight, he would spend tomorrow in test maneuvers gathering the data needed for the simulators. All in all, until Lang was willing to release one of the new Super VT's for testing, he was as much on track with the project as he could be.  
  
"Roger that, Jake. Anything else I'm needed for?"  
  
"That's a negative, Cap'n. Why don't you go into town or something and let us worker bees get on with our jobs? I know how to get a hold of you if there's a problem."  
  
"You've got it. See you in the morning."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The three rules of a successful business are Location, location, and location. Oh, and having a superior product doesn't hurt either. Java Joe's had both, being just across the street from the Star Bowl and within walking distance of most of the shopping area's stores. It also served the best Mocha Latte Muck had found aboard. Granted, he probably could have made a better cup himself, but he was feeling a touch lazy today, and it had given him an excuse to come into town. Muted singing and music from Minmei's latest concert drifted softly from across the street. As he waited for his second cup, even Muck was caught up in its spell. 'She definitely does have a better singing voice than her voice actor did back home'; he admitted to himself as he picked up his cup and savored the aroma before taking a sip.  
  
It was a sip that wound up all down the front of his uniform as alarms began to sound all across Macross city, followed by the voice of Commander Hayes both warning of an attack and ordering all off duty personnel to battle stations. The hot coffee on the front of his uniform was forgotten as years of training kicked in, and Muck was sliding behind Fred's wheel even before the commander had finished her announcement. As he pulled out and whipped the large beast through a U turn, he saw that quite a few pilots had decided to come into town for the concert as well, including his boss.  
  
"Need a Lift, skipper?" Muck asked semi-rhetorically as he stopped in front of Lt. Cmdr. Hunter. Rick's game face was already on, and he just nodded and climbed into the front seat as three other pilots piled into the back. Muck floored it and headed for the Prometheus. For once, there were no snide comments about close shaves as Muck threaded his way through traffic. Not that Muck would have necessarily noticed either. In fact, it wasn't until later that he realized that he was SEEING the vectors and velocity of the surrounding vehicles as he barreled towards Prometheus.  
  
Muck slammed into a parking space in the hanger deck with a move known as a Bootleggers reverse, and no sooner than they had come to a stop than everyone had jumped out and was running to their planes. Muck was into his flight suit and climbing into his plane before his plane captain caught up with him.  
  
"Wait, Cap'n! You've still got that anti-ship load hanging. We didn't have time to download it."  
  
"No time now, Jake. I'll just have to fly with what I have. Get those pins pulled." Jake nodded as Muck hit the start button on the APU (3) before pulling on his helmet and gloves. Jake appeared from under the wings, holding the safety pins up for Muck to count just as Muck had finished confirming the seals on his suit. Nodding at that, Muck lowered the canopy and switched to the hanger frequency.  
  
"Skull 22 ready to taxi."  
  
"Skull 33 ready."  
  
"Skull 34 is hot."  
  
"Skull 32 ready to rock."  
  
"Skulls, report by wing."  
  
"Skull 2 with 3, ready to fly."  
  
"Skull 3 with 3, Locked and cocked."  
  
"PHC, this is Skull Lead with 12, ready for transfer to flight deck."  
  
"Skulls, PHC. Stand by for tow to elevator 2."  
  
Muck threw a salute to Grafton, who ducked back under the wings and emerged with the wheel chocks just as a yellow tow cart pulled up and attached to the Veritech's nose wheel. To Muck, it seemed a semi-eternity as they were ferried up to the flight deck in groups of four. Once on the flight deck, they were finally able to start engines and unfold their wings. Muck concentrated on the launch procedures. Into the launch queue. Blast deflector coming down. Taxi forward into the box. Wait while they attach the bridle and hold back bar. Blast deflector up, check controls. Throttles to burner, Salute and BLAAM! A giant hand pressed him into the ejection seat for three long seconds, and he was up and away from the ship, raising the landing gear and turning towards the squadron rendezvous.  
  
Lisa was on the command net as Muck tuned in. "Cruisers and Battle- wagons. No mecha as yet. You should have their signatures on your threat evaluation display now."  
  
"That's affirmative, Lisa. Skulls have formed up, vectoring for box Alpha 1."  
  
"This looks big, Rick. Be careful, Ok?"  
  
"You don't have to tell me twice. Skull lead out." Twelve arrowheads of death turned and streaked towards their appointment with the enemy. Muck waited for a second before coming up on the channel.  
  
"Lead, Three. I've got a small problem here. I'm still carrying the anti-ship test load. I don't think its going to be useful once they launch mecha."  
  
"Three, Lead. Do you have ANY air to air weapons?"  
  
"Nose and head lasers only, Lead. Request permission to try a strike run on an escort."  
  
Suddenly Lisa's face appeared on a comm screen as she jumped into the conversation. "Skull Thirty-one, do you mean to say you launched WITHOUT your GU-11 pod?"  
  
"Affirmative, Commander. I've got an ECM pod hanging there instead."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Good Lord, now I have to deal with TWO of them!" Lisa sighed into the still open communication channel. "Thirty-one, what on earth possessed you to launch in that condition?"  
  
"Something called a general scramble, Commander," came the calm, semi- metallic voice over the comm channel. "No time to re-load."  
  
Sammie interrupted Lisa before she could reply. "Commander, I have a note here that Skull Thirty-one was performing static load tests leading up to a flight test tomorrow. I don't think he planned this deliberately, Ma'am." Lisa strangled a scream and briefly entertained thoughts of strangling assorted wise-guy pilots and bridge technicians before turning to Captain Gloval.  
  
"Let him try, Lisa," Gloval replied, having already made his decision during the preceding conversation. "Have him target the cruiser to the right of the lead battle-wagon. That one is ours."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Skull squadron, you're cleared to attack the cruiser at zero-one- zero relative. Do not, repeat NOT engage the lead battle-wagon," Lisa ordered from the left comm screen. Ahead, launch bays on the approaching enemy vessels opened and began to disgorge their swarms of deadly mecha.  
  
"This is your play, Muck. Tell me what you want to do," Rick ordered from the right comm screen.  
  
"You and Max blow me a hole through that screen. I'll keep three flight with me to keep any leakers off my six while I make my run."  
  
"Ok, Skulls, you heard the man. Three flight, stay with three lead. One, Two, Let's plow the road!" Rick ordered, and two-thirds of the ships charged ahead. The four remaining ships also rocketed ahead, but at military power instead of burner.  
  
Muck's voice became slightly more mechanical. "Three flight, go tactical. We're going straight through the center. Once through, I want you to hang tight, Sinker. Go-go, CP, take high cover. Keep anyone off of me till I finish the attack run."  
  
Three almost bored rogers came back as three flight hid whatever personal thoughts or fears they might have. Ahead of them, space began to erupt in the lighting flashes and spherical explosions of a dogfight in progress. "Three flight, Burners NOW!" Eight blue comets split the darkness as Third flight tore into the middle of the dogfight.  
  
The flashes and explosions grew closer, then were past in the blink of an eye. Space grew quite for a second as the cruiser appeared and began to swell in their cockpits. "Watch for triple-A", Muck warned, as the fighters continued to close.  
  
A second later, beams of light began to blast towards the attackers from the cruiser, streaking past their cockpits and buffeting them. "Keep jinking, and get down low over the hull, flight," Muck ordered as the 4 fighters kept boring in. The fire from their target, while heavy, was easily dodged by the nimble fighters; then stopped as they screamed in low over its massive hull.  
  
"Twelve tri-thrusters coming in from two-zero-zero low," Go-Go reported. "We're on them." The aft two fighters rolled left and reversed course.  
  
"Hang on, Sinker. This is where it gets interesting. Starting Music (4)," Muck noted just before the pair flashed over the stern of the cruiser. In response, the aft guns again spat coherent light and electrons at the seemingly retreating fighters. A quartet of rather large missiles shot past them, making Sinker rather nervous when Muck flipped his fighter through a max-g Immelman; as he came over the top, two missiles flashed out from his outer hard-points. Sinker was barely able to stay with him as the pair flashed back at the engines of the massive vessel. The first two missiles hit their targets, wiping out two of the aft facing fire control radars as Muck ripple fired his four remaining missiles, heavy Decca ship- killers with reflex warheads. The weapons waited for a long second or two before igniting their own engines and closing in on the emissions of the engines dead ahead as the two fighters raced for safety. Anti-missile fire reached out for them, catching two of the large missiles, but the other two jinked and continued to home in on the radiation coming from the massive drives. Diving deep into the heart of them, the Deccas detonated, the chain reaction blasting deep into the stern of the ship, releasing a great flare of light.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Report from the Anastazi, M'Lord," Exedore reported on the bridge of Breetai's flagship. "Enemy mecha have broken through her screen and disabled her engines. She otherwise remains battle-worthy."  
  
Breetai nodded unemotionally. "Very well. Pull our mecha in closer to the ships to prevent them from doing it again. Close formation and remain on course. All ships open fire."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Aboard the bridge of the SDF-1 a shout erupted as fire blossomed from the rear of the closest cruiser; then died as the twenty-nine remaining attackers closed ranks and returned fire.  
  
"Return Fire!" Gloval snapped. "Vanessa, what happened to that cruiser?"  
  
"It looks like they intercepted two of the missiles, sir. The other two got through, but weren't enough for a kill. He got her engines though, she's dead in space," the bridge tech replied.  
  
"Very well, Vanessa. Lisa, prepare the Daedalus. We'll punch them from space one by one if we have to!"  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Rick Hunter, at this point, was caught in the deep space equivalent of a rolling scissors with an enemy officer pod intent on ruining his day. Whoever was piloting that pod was darn good, and Rick's options were narrowing. his one best disengagement route took him through the kill zone of a flight of Tri-thrusters coming into the area. also assuming the officer pod would LET him get away.  
  
The tactical equation suddenly changed as a familiar blue trimmed Veritech flashed in from below and chased off the officer pod with a brace of missiles even as another flight of 4 swooped in and obliterated the tri- thrusters. "Someone call the cavalry?" Muck asked from a side comm screen as the half dozen fighters fell back from the main battle and re-grouped. Getting clear of the fight showed the lead battleship impaled on the end of the Daedalus.  
  
"Aw, CRUD!" Muck was groaning, as the Daedalus pulled clear. Rick waited for a moment, but the expected explosion of the massive Zentraedi vessel did not materialize. "Boss, we need to RTB ASAP!"  
  
"Why?" Demanded a rather irritated Rick.  
  
"Cause the enemy just boarded the SDF-1. AND my flight is low on ammo and go-go juice."  
  
"Same here, Skipper." Max added. "About the gas, anyway. No comment on the other."  
  
Rick was about to switch into the central TAC net when Lisa appeared on his screen. "Skull one, Return to base immediately. Skull one, Return to base immediately. Enemy mecha aboard ship! Request assistance!"  
  
"IN the ship?" Rick repeated in disbelief.  
  
"They're destroying everything, Rick," Lisa confirmed. "Return to base immediately."  
  
"Skull lead inbound with five, Lisa. Have they hit the amphitheater?"  
  
"I don't know, I don't have a status report. We need you back here now!" The center comm screen went dark, and six fighters turned and raced back to their home in space, unaware of the enemy mecha tailing them.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The six Battleoids stepped through the final hatch into the Macross City hold and stopped dead in their tracks. The devastation was immediately visible, and massive. Everywhere buildings were at best heavily damaged; at worst, smoking piles of rubble. Overhead, the EVE sky was gone, revealing the bare metal ceiling. Smoke and steam filled the giant space, reducing visibility.  
  
"This is so NOT good," Sinker observed over the comm channel.  
  
"Maintain comm discipline. Orders, Skipper?" was Muck's reply.  
  
"Wait one. Lisa, this is Rick. We're in. Where are they?"  
  
"Civil Defense is overwhelmed... We can't get a fix from their reports. It looks like they're everywhere down there, Rick."  
  
"Roger that, Lisa. Ok troops. Split up and go hunting. Lets try and round these guys up before they wipe out everything. Go-Go, CP, Sweep Right. Muck, Sinker, go left. Max, you're with me."  
  
"Right."  
  
Muck waved Sinker into the next block over, and continued moving up the street. Two block further down; he encountered a Civil Defense Destroid, destroyed by a shot straight through the cockpit. Muck shook his head, unaware of the fact it was mirrored by his Veritech, and reported the find. Otherwise, it was a stroke of luck, because the pilot had armed his machine with a GU-11 pod, which Muck appropriated to replace the jamming pod he had launched with.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Five Battle-pods lead by an officer swaggered down the main drag of Macross, leveling everything in sight. Four blocks away, Muck and Sinker hunkered down behind a pair of office buildings and prepared a trap. "CDC, Skull 31. Five bandits on Main, Grid K-13, headed towards the Star Bowl. Engaging," Muck reported tersely. A look over at Sinker, and they both popped out from cover, 55mm cannon blazing. Their shots hulled one Battle- pod, but the answering fire from the Officer pod in the lead was devastating. Both mecha came to rest on the side streets on the opposite sides of the intersection from where they had started, emitting sparks and smoke.  
  
"Ung," muttered Muck, shaking his head to clear it. "You ok over there, Sinker?"  
  
"Had better days, boss. Belle's right arm is off at the shoulder, but I'm ok otherwise."  
  
"Better than I am. I'm showing critical damage to all systems. Better bug out, Sinker. I'm going EV and doing the same."  
  
Activate Star Ranger Mode. Activating.   
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Khyron shook his head in a mixture of amazement and disgust at the confused babbling of the pilot he had just detained. 'So, the rumors Grel reported are true. Not only is this scum trying to defect, but he seems to have lost his mind as well!' He centered the pod in his targeting recticle pulled the trigger; instead of the expected bolt of leashed death, HIS mecha rocked with the force of an explosion instead, and a warning light flared on his panel indicating that his top mounted cannon had somehow been destroyed. The defectors battle-pods reacted, realizing his intentions and began to flee. "After them! Destroy those stains upon our name!" he commanded his personal troops, even as he looked about for what could have attacked him.  
  
His external microphones picked up a shout above and to his right, focusing his attention on a rather ridiculous sight; some sort of miniature enemy mecha, no taller than the average Micronian, armed with some sort of sword and shield, was taunting him!  
  
"Hey Ferret Face! Why don't you just head on back to whatever hole you crawled out of!" it demanded. Khyron may have been unfamiliar with the Micronian language, but he was not stupid, and definitely knew an insult when he heard one. One Derringer like arm raised and blasted away at the insolent gnat, only to miss; the gnat had leapt up and over his mecha. Kyhron's instinctive follow up reply did not miss, though, as his other arm caught the descending insect squarely with a sweeping blow, brushing it away as one might a fly and threw his pod into pursuit mode, intent on chasing down and destroying the defectors.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Star Ranger came to rest buried in a building three blocks away from the point of impact, feeling much the worse for wear.  
  
Present tactics are ineffective. Recommend that you change them before you're next encounter. Oh? Really? Affirmative. Present Status? Minor damage to all systems. Combat efficiency at 75% Location? 1.5 klicks from Star Bowl, bearing 057 local; under 1.5 meters of rubble.   
  
A few blasts from his Shockwave Launcher freed Star Ranger from the debris, allowing him to take to the air. The Star Bowl quickly came into view, a mass of devastation; with Skull One in Battleoid mode moving away.  
  
Give me the Command frequency. Command on audio.   
  
#Rick, Come IN! Report! # Lisa's voice blared over the radio.  
  
#Command, Star Ranger. Skull Lead is. Unavailable at the moment. #  
  
#I don't see you on the CD display. Where are you? #  
  
#Command Star Ranger is EV from Skull Three-One and just outside the Star Bowl. Looks pretty bad, we need a rescue squad here ASAP. #  
  
#Skull One just told us that. How bad are the casualties? #  
  
#Hard to say, there's a lot of debris here. Wait one. I have Minmei and Lynn-Kyle in sight. They look to be OK. #  
  
#Understood, Star Ranger. Be advised that we need to get those people out of there ASAP. The enemy is bottled up and the killing ground is just short of your location. #  
  
#Roger that, Command. I'm on it. Ranger out. #  
  
---  
  
1) Combat Information Center. 2) Space Aviation Training and Operation Procedures. The aviation bible on the SDF-1. 3) Auxiliary Power Unit - provides power to the airplane without running the engines. a good idea on a busy hanger deck. 4) Starting Music: Commencing jamming with ECM and ECCM. 


	9. Strange Bedfellows

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 9: Strange Bedfellows  
  
"OK, that about wraps it up except for two more points. First, With Sinker and Muck's planes out of action, We'll be forming into two 5 plane wings." Rick informed the assembled pilots of Skull squadron from the front of the ready room. "Go-Go, you're with me in one flight, CP, you're with Max in two. Sinker's going to be on CIC watch until the techs get his plane put back together. Second, we have to provide an officer to assist in the Macross rebuilding work. Since Muck's plane will be out of service the longest, he's got the job. He'll be off of the duty roster for the foreseeable future until the techs can rebuild his plane and Civil Defense releases him. That's all for now, but we've got the 08:00 Bar-Cap tomorrow, so hit the sack, people."  
  
With that dismissal, the noise in the ready room rose significantly as the pilots of Skull Squadron separated to go about their other business. As the pilots filled out, Max looked over at Rick. "Do you really think this is such a good idea? I mean, Cmdr. Hayes seemed pretty miffed at him over the weapon snafu."  
  
"I know. I'm hoping out of sight, out of mind will apply here. I doubt even Muck could get into trouble supervising a work party."  
  
"Wanna bet, boss? This IS Muck we're talking about here."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The streets of Macross were bustling with the rebuilding effort as Muck left the supervisor tent to round up a work crew. It took only a moment, as he ran into a large group of eligible males, who'd just emerged from the dubious shelter of an alley and were standing around looking quite lost. When Muck saw the three in the center of the group in sackcloth, he knew instantly what to do.  
  
"OK, Men, Attention!" As expected, Zentraedi military indoctrination snapped to the fore as the deserters snapped to and fell in. "We are now work group Zeta, and we need to clear this mess so that the construction crews can get down to the rebuilding work. Let's get our tools. Right FACE! For'd March!" Muck turned a blind eye to the three sack-clothed men who 'fell out' of the formation, in an almost casual manner. 'I'll take care of your fellow deserters, guys. You just do what you need to do."  
  
Across the street, Miriya Parino watched this with concealed glee at the undisciplined antics of the micronians. then her eyes narrowed as she recognized Karita, the man in charge of the sizing chambers aboard Breetai's flagship! She scrutinized the others, and nodded. The whole work party had the rough edged looks typical of male Zentraedi. Clearly, Breetai had infiltrated a unit into the city as well. Smiling at this, she left Breetai's troops to their mission and strode off on her own. With this concentration of troops on the street, she hoped to find her quarry, or at least eliminate even more of the personnel on board from consideration. The redhead in the green trimmed flight suit, for example, couldn't possibly be her quarry. His oblivion to the fact that his so- called work party had no idea of what they were doing was clearly an indication that he lacked the raw perceptive intelligence that her quarry possessed, not to mention his choice of colors!  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The expression on the faces of Cmdr. Hunter and Lt. Sterling as the defectors were admitted to the conference room was the final piece of proof Gloval needed. The defectors clearly recognized them as well, as they burst into speech. "We know you! Your one of the two who kissed during the interrogation!" That hadn't been in Lisa's official report, but the way Lisa blushed indicated it was true. Given the fact that these three were also clearly NOT fifty-some feet tall also proved Lisa's claim that there was some sort of size altering device aboard the flagship.  
  
He turned to Lisa. "Do you recognize these men?"  
  
"Yes, Captain. They were present at our interrogation on the enemy flagship. Of course," she finished with a wry smile, "They were a bit taller at the time. But, what are they doing here?"  
  
"Apparently, they and a few comrades have decided to defect. Since they are clearly who they claim they are, we need to decide what to do about their request."  
  
"We can't send them back, Skipper," Max observed in his quiet tone. "Given what we saw on the flagship, I doubt they'd get a very warm reception."  
  
"I'd have to agree, Captain," Lisa chimed in. "Given their military oriented society, They'd probably be shot on sight."  
  
"Very well. Get Caruthers and Maistroff in here. Oh, and Hunter and Thunders as well."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"There has to be some attempt made at peace," Rick was addressing the assembled officers when Muck entered the briefing room. It only took a glance at the three defectors in the 'hot seat' for Muck to know what he had walked into.  
  
"Capt. Thunder, USAF reporting," he interjected, as Rick finished.  
  
"No need for that, Thunders. Caruthers and Maistroff have been briefed in on you," Gloval replied gravely. "You're just here to offer an independent opinion.  
  
"Captain, I must protest! We still have no way of knowing that this person really is who he claims," blustered Maistroff. "In fact, given the appearance of these infiltrators, it makes it even more likely that he was just the first of many. We could literally be facing an attempt to seize the ship from within!"  
  
Muck rolled his eyes at Maistroff's hyperbole, but it was Max who leapt to his defense. "With all due respect sir, but 'Captain' Thunders has put his life on the line for us repeatedly, most recently taking a VT with an experimental payload up against an enemy CAPTIOL ship, before taking on a numerically superior enemy aboard ship. That doesn't sound to me like the actions of an enemy agent."  
  
"And got shot out of his plane without scoring on a single pod, I might note," Maistroff rebutted.  
  
"After which, instead of retreating to safety, he remained in the battle area and was instrumental in the rescue of several critically injured civilians despite the fact that the enemy was being sent to an ambush almost right on top of him," Lisa jumped in. "In fact, the only reason he eventually left the area was that I ordered him to withdraw to maintain secrecy about certain of his abilities."  
  
"That will be quite enough, all of you. Mr. Thunders' loyalties are not the topic at hand. How we respond to this request is," Gloval declared.  
  
"You can't be serious, Sir!" Caruthers protested. "Do you really intend for us to live with them? To lie down with the Lion, when we don't know if he's still hungry?"  
  
"How do we know this isn't some sort of Trap?" Maistroff added from the sidelines, content to let Caruthers carry the battle for a while.  
  
"You weren't aboard that cruiser, Sir. I'm telling you, these three had their first taste of freedom here, and the word is going to spread."  
  
"If we grant them Asylum, We show that our way of life is better," Lisa added. "If three, why not three hundred, or three thousand?"  
  
"Thirty already have," Muck added, causing the 'official' defectors to take a second look at him and pale.  
  
"WHAT?" roared Maistroff, as he and Caruthers both surged to their feet. "There are more of them, and you didn't tell us? My god, man! Who knows what sort of mayhem they could be engaged in right this moment!"  
  
"Why should I?" Muck retorted. "Clearly, if I had, you'd have them in your brig right now, subjecting them to who knows what! And they're no threat to the security of the ship. Hell, they don't even know which end of a shovel to use!" At this turn of events, the three defectors, momentarily forgotten, looked positively ill.  
  
"SILENCE," roared Gloval, returning order to the free-for-all that had erupted. "Now, how is it that you know THIS, Mr. Thunders? More of your other-worldly knowledge?"  
  
"Actually, no sir. They got themselves drafted into my working party clearing Macross for re-construction." At that statement, the whole room erupted into chaos as conversations flew everywhere, developing in a heartbeat into shouted recriminations and counter charges. The three defectors seriously considered trying to sneak from the room before attention centered on them once more.  
  
This tableau was only broken by the arrival of one of Lang's glassy- eye technicians. Apparently oblivious to the argument his arrival terminated, the technician delivered a report to Gloval and left, leaving the room in pregnant silence as Gloval leafed through its pages. "This is a report on the Alien's cellular structure I asked Dr. Lang to perform. I think you will find it quite interesting," Gloval noted as he passed the report to Col.'s Maistroff and Caruthers.  
  
"This is preposterous!" Maistroff finally blurted, as the two colonels finished the report. "There is no way that our two races could be effectively identical."  
  
"Life finds a way, Colonel," Muck observed, once again on the sidelines.  
  
"Indeed it has, Mr. Thunders. Indeed it has," Gloval observed. "In fact, given this data, there is no possible way I could refuse their request. It would be, pardon the pun, Inhuman."  
  
"You can't Sir!" Caruthers protested for the umpteenth time. "That's the sort of decision that the council should make, not us!"  
  
"Since the council seems to have wiped their hands of us, I'm not at all concerned about their opinion," Gloval snorted. "The two of you are dismissed." Maistroff and Caruthers rose stiffly to their feet, saluted, and left, clearly still very irate.  
  
"You haven't heard the end of this, Cap'n," Lisa warned. "I'm certain they'll contact Earth and try and have your decision overturned."  
  
"Let them. I am still the final authority aboard this ship," Gloval replied with bared steel in his tone. "Mr. Thunders, where are the other defectors right now?"  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't tell you that."  
  
"That remark could be considered insubordinate, Mr. Thunders."  
  
"Yes, sir. Shall I report to the brig now, Sir?"  
  
"One moment, Captain," Lisa interjected. "Muck, why can't you tell us?"  
  
"Because I don't know, Commander."  
  
Max nudged Rick, who automatically passed Max a five-credit note. Max had to nudge him again before Rick caught on. "Sir, Muck here tends to be quite literal. He doesn't know because he is here now, and they're still down in Macross with his working party," Rick observed.  
  
Gloval sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "Very well. Lisa, find out who took over Mr. Thunder's working party when he reported here and find the other defectors. Get them assigned quarters and someone to help educate them about life aboard. The rest of you are dismissed, and Mr. Thunders is confined to quarters until his plane is restored to flight status."  
  
"Aye Aye, Sir."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck looked up from yet another revision to what had become his personal windmill, the plans for executing capitol ship strikes with Veritechs, when the door chimed, then opened to reveal Rick.  
  
"Evening, boss. What can I do ya for today?"  
  
"Just passing along some news, Muck. You're halfway out of dutch with the captain. The techs have Stinker's plane back together, so you're replacing him on CIC watch. You're still in hack while not on watch, though."  
  
"Roger that, Boss. When's my next watch?"  
  
"Oh-four hundred, so get some rest, Muck."  
  
"Aye aye, sir."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The oncoming watch officer in CIC sighed and rolled her eyes when she saw Muck relieving the flight officer on watch. It was safe to say that the dislike between them was professional, not personal. Muck was the epitome of coffee snobs in the first place, in her eyes. The pain in the backside about it wasn't even the fact that he insisted on bringing his own, home brewed supply with him on watch, either. It was that he never offered to share it, and supplemented that with pointed barbs about the motor oil quality of the coffee in the CIC urn. While Lt. Sandra 'Sandy' Sands preferred her caffeine cold and carbonated, coffee WAS much better at keeping one awake in the false twilight of CIC. So, she poured herself a cup and steeled herself for the six hours ahead, pointedly ignoring Muck Thunders until he came to her.  
  
"Ma'am, I have the CIC flight safety watch. No planes in the air at this time."  
  
"Very well, Muck."  
  
"Do we have the flight schedule yet, Sandy?"  
  
"Just came out. We put up the Bar-Cap again in about an hour, and then we have a shuttle launch with escort at oh-eight."  
  
"Wonderful." Muck's tone was heavy with sarcasm. "Gonna take a lot of mental motor oil to keep the brain running till then."  
  
"Shoo, Muck, and let me get back to work. Some of us DO work for a living, you know."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"One thousand three, one thousand five. Four? Putz. One. Two." CIC FSO is one of those jobs that sound more important than it is. The problem was that the Veritechs were very reliable. and there weren't a lot of options for a pilot in space if his bird went tango uniform on him. Still, when it happened, options were needed fast, which was why Muck was here, being bored. He glanced between his upraised feet, cushioned by the SATOPS manual at the big plot and sighed. Every time he got near the controllers to see what was going on, Sandy chased him away, leaving him to watch the master view from across the room and count holes in the ceiling.  
  
The sound of the threat alert snapped him to his feet, and he was over at the threat board without consciously moving there. Sandy looked over at him and grunted, but said nothing else. The picture displayed was depressingly clear. A large raid, fifty to sixty in number, had appeared between the shuttle carrying Commander Hayes and the SDF-1, their vector clearly indicating they were going after the shuttle.  
  
"Putz." Muck's tone said it all, including a desire for a more violent epitaph that would have been out of place in the female-staffed CIC.  
  
"Indeed," concurred Sandy. "The only group close enough is Greenback 4, and they're all rookies. By the time they get there, its going to be all but over."  
  
"And they can't double back without running smack into them," Muck finished with gloom in his voice. "Better pass it all up the chain, Sandy, and hope the captain over-rides us."  
  
Sandy's long look after passing the report left no need for words. Quietly, the two watched as the enemy closed in and swirled around the escort, which had fallen back to keep them away from the shuttle. A dozen red blips vanished, then a friendly, then two more. "Come on, captain." Muck murmured, not realizing he was talking out loud. "Make the call before Max's had it." Sandy turned to look at Muck, but her question was interrupted by a query from the Bridge.  
  
"Muck, Capn's asking how fast can the AVT get there?"  
  
"Call it four minutes at max with a good pilot."  
  
Sandy conferred into the mike again, then nodded. "Cap'n says do it," she reported. "I'll call the hanger, you get the CAG."  
  
"On it, Sandy," Muck replied turning towards his watch desk.  
  
Sandy accepted the mug Muck handed her upon his return without comment, sipping while Muck slipped on a spare headset and plugged in. She glanced back over at Muck with raised eyebrows. "Yours?"  
  
"Yup. Now you see why I can't stand the watch pot. Not it's fault, really. I think the steel used for the big pots absorbs coffee oil somehow." The two winced in silence as Sammie shouted old code co- ordinates over the open frequency to Lt. Cmdr. Hunter.  
  
"OOPS," Sandy noted.  
  
"Not Sammy's fault, Sandy. CAG wasn't going to be on duty till tomorrow. Plenty of time to give him the new codes then," Muck replied, defending the bridge officer. The Armored Veritech shot from the catapult, and the two officers watched as the vector arrow built rapidly. "3.5 minutes to intercept," Muck noted as the vector stabilized. "The CAG is good."  
  
Sandy took another sip from the mug. "Sterling just lost two more. its going to be close." The two officers lapsed into silence, frustrated at having to watch the events from a distance; both urging Rick Hunter to arrive before it was to late.  
  
"Yes!" the shout went up across CIC as the Super VT pierced through the enemy formation and a half dozen blips vanished. Sandy winced as the Super went through a crushing deceleration before whipping back at the remaining enemy. More enemy blips vanished, and then they'd clearly had enough, as they began to fall back away from the shuttle and its two escorts. A sigh of relief echoed around CIC, prompting Sandy to look away from the threat board. "Buckle down, people. still a lot of space out there. Let's keep an eye on your own sectors, ok?" she reminded the turned her attention back to the inter-phone. "They're recalling Sterling, he's Winchester," she told Muck. "Hunter will escort the shuttle the rest of the way. Better get back to your books, flyboy. The shift on deck haven't recovered the prototype before so you're going to be busy briefing them."  
  
"On it, Sandy," Muck confirmed, removing his headset and dropping it on the watch table behind them. The tech spec's in question were locked in his desk, as a sop to ship security. Even after the appearance of the defectors, no one in CIC really believed that there was an effective way to get information off the ship - and the FSO needed that information to do his job. He was deep into the document, reviewing the data to brief Paddles (1), when the alarm sounded again. Looking up, he realized that the remains of Kyhron's attack force had looped back around and were moving to intercept Max, the lone survivor of the original escort. Rick and the Super VT were committed to protect the shuttle, and Max was still to far from the ship to commit a rescue force, assuming Gloval would for just one pilot.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
On the bridge, the effects were chaos as several reports came in at once.  
  
"Sir, CIC reports her FSO just abandoned his post," came the report from Kim, causing both Gloval and Claudia Grant to look over at her in surprise.  
  
"Sir, I have a new paint, close aboard," reported Vanessa from the defense co-ordinator station. "It's giving the computers fits. It scans like a Veritech, but the signal strength doesn't agree with the range gate." (2)  
  
It took Sammy, un-intentionally, to clear up these events. "Sir, I have Star Ranger on Tac-one, requesting a vector to intercept Lt. Sterling. Should I give it to him, or order him to return to base?"  
  
Gloval fought the impulse to sink his head into his hands and sigh, instead giving Claudia a pointed look, which was returned with a sort of 'what did you expect' sort of wordless shrug. He settled for a sigh, instead. "Well, give him his vector, Sammy. And have him report to me in my quarters when he returns. if he returns."  
  
"Aye aye, Sir. Star Ranger, vector to intercept is grid Lambda three- two," Sammie acknowledged, as Gloval sank back in his chair and debated shooting his troublesome stowaway.  
  
Continued in Chapter 10: Your presence is requested.  
  
-----------  
  
1) Paddles, or Landing Signal Officer (LSO) is the officer responsible for guiding a pilot in for a safe recovery aboard ship, and is the one who decides if a plane is making a safe approach or not.  
  
2) Radar measures distance as time from signal transmission to return. To focus on certain distances, a 'Range gate' ignores signals before or after a certain delay. However, signal strength is a secondary check. So, Muck's creating a close signal that looks like it should be farther away. 


	10. Your Presence is Requested

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2 - "Wandering Aces" Chapter 10: "Your Presence is Requested"  
  
Once more Muck Thunders seemingly ceased to exist as he was relieved on station by the Star Ranger, so to speak. As the familiar change crept across him, so did a familiar mental shift. Not to say that he wasn't still the same person inside. but there were distinct differences. Star Ranger wasted no time, blasting clear of the airlock and transforming to his fastest flight mode in one smooth motion. One part of him was receiving a vector from Sammie on the bridge over the radio while another converted it into a course and sent him racing down it at top speed. And all through it, he wavered between a fear of not getting there in time and a determination to make certain he did. Time. that was the critical factor.  
  
Time, Time, Time. See what's become of me. He began to hum to himself.  
  
Audio File Identified. Commencing Playback. Surprised, Star Rangers speed slacked a bit as the first chords of the original recording of the song flooded through his ears. Shaking it off, he let the song flow over him, encouraging him to his best speed possible.  
  
Have you always been able to do that?? he queried the probe brain that formed the other 'half' of his consciousness as the song drew to a close.  
  
Negative. File was present but un-indexed until you Identified it.  
  
That's not what I meant.  
  
Negative. Believe new abilities result of damage during insertion.  
  
Understood. Can you access Battlepod structural data?  
  
Affirmative.  
  
Target analysis.  
  
Initial analysis indicates standard tactics non-effective. Commencing alternate tactics analysis. A small window opened in the corner of his vision, containing a small representation of a rotating battlepod, covered with flashing lines and vectors as the computer worked the problem and Star Ranger screamed in on the developing furball.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Max glanced at the tactical display dispassionately. The last two survivors of his escort flight had just gone down, but the enemy was down to a dozen plus their officer leader. He was down to his last clip of ammo for his autocannon. The remaining enemy looked to be moving for an englobing attack, to try and pull him down by sheer numbers. TWO last minute rescues in one day seemed a bit absurd to him as he imaged the mecha's hands slapping the last clip into place; it looked like today was not his day to cheat death after all. Still, he was going to take as many of them with him as he could.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
A most evil sneer crossed Kyhron's face as he held back slightly; He was certain that this was the same pilot who had bested even Miriya Padrino, and now the fool was about to maneuver himself right into Kyhron's crosshairs. giving him the victory that had eluded HER.  
  
A threat detection signal diverted his attention momentarily, irritating him. Clearly the thing was malfunctioning and had accidentally categorized a non-threat. if whatever it was had been less than a minute away, it would have opened fire by now. Snarling a Zentraedi curse, he smacked the offending equipment with the back of his hand, silencing it, then turned his attention back to his eminent victory. A quick jink brought the Micronian square into his cross-hairs. with no place to dodge without bringing him into the fire of another pod. He squeezed the trigger, shocked when instead of obliterating his foe, his top mounted autocannon exploded instead. As he struggled to control the damaged pod, an impossibly small enemy mecha flashed past him at a seemingly impossible speed, but he was far to busy to notice.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Three pods went down on Star Rangers first pass through the melee; one to a shattered viewport thanks to the Star shield, another to sliced off cockpit hinges, and a third had its power grid shorted out by a well placed EMP pulse. Max accounted for four more with the ammunition remaining in his autocannon, and the disarray amongst the enemy was complete. The enemy, unable to track the miniature Veritech that was Star Ranger, fell back; loosing two more of its number to Max's accurate laser fire as he returned to fighter mode. Before Kyhron could stop them, his remaining pods fled the enemy, only to meet death once the Back-stabber caught them and executed his own summary justice.  
  
Max, too, was caught by surprise by this turn of events. To him, one second he was in the final battle, the next the sky was clear save for the few retreating survivors. It wasn't until a strange thump emanated from behind him that he finally laid eye-balls on the Star Ranger, hanging on to his plane over the port engine inlet.  
  
"Hey, buddy. give a friend a lift, willya?" Star Ranger asked over the radio. The voice, though metallic, was clearly that of Muck, and somehow a sense of exhaustion came though both the radio encryption AND the metallic overtones that replaced Muck's normal baritone.  
  
Max had been cleared in on Star Ranger not long after Muck had been assigned to them, but he'd never actually SEEN Muck in Star Ranger mode before. "No problem. Sterling Airlines never turns away a passenger," Max quipped, his mental equilibrium returning. "Would you like coffee, tea, or milk?"  
  
"Just home ASAP, Max. This took more out of me than I expected," Star Ranger murmured in return, shifting his metallic body to lie prone along the top of the plane behind the cockpit to minimize the disturbance to plane's flight characteristics. Minutes passed in silence while Max flew the plane and took a good look at Star Ranger in his rear-view mirrors. Star Ranger really was an almost exact duplicate of the Super Veritech that Rick had used to bail him out an hour earlier. though Dr. Lang claimed that he'd already had the design for the super's in mind before ever laying eyes on Star Ranger.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be on CIC watch?" Max finally asked.  
  
"Had to. Still got a war to win, woman to marry."  
  
"Oh? Who?"  
  
"Green haired chick you've been 'sessing 'bout."  
  
"You know who she IS? AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?"  
  
"Chill, Max. You'll meet her when the times right. Gon' be one heck of a firs' date, too."  
  
Max momentarily considered a quick barrel roll to shake Star Ranger up, but settled for a verbal jab instead. "You, Muck, are one bat rastard."  
  
"Tha's nice, Max." There was a long pause before he continued, in a petulant childlike voice, "Are we home, yet?"  
  
"Just about to enter the pattern. Better break off before someone sees you."  
  
"Right, Max. Seeya inside."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Gloval had just long enough to light his pipe and loose himself in the view out his office window when the intercom shrilled. "Sir, Mr. Thunders is reporting as ordered."  
  
"Very well. Send him in," Gloval ordered as he swung to face his desk. On cue, the hatch slid open and Muck Thunders entered, accompanied, as always when he was in trouble of some sorts, by Sgt. Adam Jury and Cpl. John Bailesu. There was a sort of irony in that, since their detailing to Thunders meant that they had unusually high security clearances for someone of their rank. In fact, given Thunder's recent predilection for causing a stir without meaning to, the two guards were probably sick and tired of seeing their charge.  
  
Thunders came to attention and saluted. "Sir, Reporting as ordered, sir." There was something about his tone that caused Gloval to take a closer look. There was something about him that wasn't quite right. It wasn't his uniform, perfect as always. It was the person. instead of the correct, stiff posture, the salute was slightly sloppy and his tan face was rather pale, as if the man had been drinking. Gloval wasn't positive but he thought he detected a slight sway as Thunders stood at attention.  
  
"You abandoned your post and took unauthorized actions to rescue Lt. Sterling. I'd like to know why."  
  
There was a definite slur to the response. "Sir, I had no choice sir. No-one else could've made." the end of the response was cut off as Muck swayed and started to fall over; only to catch himself on Sgt. Jury and pull himself back upright.  
  
"Are you Alright?" Gloval found himself torn between his concern for reminding his stowaway of the regulations he had placed him under and concern for said stowaway's well being.  
  
Muck blinked owlishly for a second then snapped back into his standard military demeanor. "Sir, Nothing that some rest and a couple of good meal's wont cure, Sir." Still, that slight sway was there.  
  
"While you're loyalty to your squadron mates is commendable, I must remind you that you ARE under my command, and." The end of the reprimand died in the air as Muck collapsed like a limp sack. "DAMN. Sergeant, get a medical team up here. Have him confined to the hospital until Dr. Lang assures you he is fully recovered!"  
  
"Aye aye, Captain."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"On your feet, Flyboy. We're busting you out of here," Max quipped as he and Rick entered Muck's hospital room. Muck looked up from the portable terminal he was working at and smiled.  
  
"Finally? I was beginning to think Cap'n Gloval had sentenced me to a life of hospital food for abandoning my post." Muck gave a hammed up shudder to show what he thought of THAT. "Fortunately, this little stay has given me time enough to finally crack the capitol strike scenario." Muck had been confined to the hospital for the past week, but three days ago had browbeat the doctors into letting him have a portable terminal on the grounds he'd go stir crazy and level the place by accident if they didn't.  
  
"Yeah, you're out of here," Rick confirmed. "But Gloval's also ordered you onto 3 days of leave. You're also going to have to take another flight physical and re-qual before you're back on flight duty, though."  
  
Muck rolled his eyes at that news. "Cap'n is down right PEEVED at my little stunt, I take it."  
  
"He couldn't decide between giving you a Medal or Court-Maritaling you, so he decided to just ignore the whole thing," Max observed, as Muck striped himself of the Hospital greens he'd been wearing (another concession he'd had to make a stink to get) and pulled on his uniform.  
  
"I think I'd almost prefer a court-martial over a week worth hospital food. I realize they try, but cooking for 100+ just leaches any flavor right out of it."  
  
"Consider it a warning to think twice before pulling such a foolish stunt again," Rick advised as a charge nurse arrived with a stack of paperwork and a wheelchair.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The trio of Max, Rick, and Muck strolled down the main drag of Macross, the remains of an excellent dinner settling in their middles. The conversation was laid back, consisting mostly of 'what do you want to do now' and various variations of the same when Muck saw a familiar head of green hair enter the Close Encounters arcade. A quick glance confirmed that Max hadn't seen her, so Muck decided to give fate a helping hand.  
  
"What about this place?" he ventured, indicating the arcade.  
  
"Video games? I dunno." Rick wavered.  
  
"Aw, come on, Rick. You've been moping ever since Cmdr. Hayes left. A game or two will cheer you right up!" Max chimed in. With the vote 2-1 against, Rick resigned himself to the inevitable and followed his compatriots in. As the sights and sounds of the Close Encounters arcade washed over him, he admitted to himself that maybe the other two did have a point. There was something about this place that did make him feel better as he joined Max and Muck in choosing a group of machines.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Rick grumbled as he worked the controls of the Aseop's Fables machine. He knew he had better than average reflexes, and was a darn fine pilot; His job and the #2 position on the kill lists proved that. However, every creature in the game today seemed to have it out for him, and he had the distinct feeling that it was playing with him, instead of the other way around. Seated next to him, Max was zipping through the levels with little problem, triggering a shower of tokens into his payoff tray. Behind them, Muck was playing Ball Gunner, and while Rick couldn't see his score, Muck had attracted a small group of observers. He snapped his attention back to his own game, and went for a snap shot at the fox that was trying to snatch his grapes. He missed, and the game made a consoling sound and flashed the game over screen. Behind him, Muck mock cursed, mindful of the younger crowd, meaning Muck had just been killed out of his game as well. Rick declined to drop yet more tokens into the machine to continue, and instead stood and stretched before moving over to look over Max's shoulder.  
  
"This is supposed to make me feel better?" Rick mock grumbled to Muck as he joined him in looking over Max's shoulder. Muck had a tray full of tokens, about twice that of Rick's winnings, but nowhere near Max's as Max rolled over the game and triggered a veritable flood of tokens; causing Rick to exclaim "Holy cow, Look at that!" Then again, seeing the proof of his junior's prowess did make him feel better, as if living vicariously though them.  
  
Max finished organizing his winnings and stood, comparing the contents of the three trays. "Hmm, Looks like I'm doing better than you two are," he observed in his normal laid back tone.  
  
"Yeah, well, we all know you're THE hot stick when it comes to gunnery, Max," Muck ribbed right back. "How about a challenge where skills are a bit more equal, eh?" Rick rolled his eyes at this. the two of them had been debating the merits of various machines the whole time they had been in the arcade. "Atmosphere duel, you and me. I'll even let you have a VT vs. my A-10."  
  
Max considered the challenge carefully. Always the hot stick, he only had a few flight hours in atmosphere from the SDF's short sojourn on earth; certainly nothing compared to the number of hours Muck claimed. That shy smile crossed his face anyway as he agreed, and the trio made their way down to the ground floor of the arcade. Halfway down the last set of stairs, Muck stopped abruptly, nearly causing a chain reaction.  
  
"Babe alert, guys. 2 o'clock low, green hair," he reported. Rick had little trouble picking her out of the crowd watching her, but didn't think much of it. Max, on the other hand, was a different story.  
  
"Your right, it's her. the one I've been talking about. I've been seeing her all over town! Isn't she something?" Max gushed.  
  
"Well, here's your chance, Max," Muck nudged. "She's on a VT machine, maybe you could interest her in a match, get to know her a bit."  
  
"Why didn't I think of that?" Max gushed, then took off down the stairs in a hurry. "Come on, guys."  
  
Rick shot Muck an Evil glare before heading down the stairs after Max. "What's up your sleeve this time, Muck?"  
  
"Who, Me?" Muck protested, putting on his most innocent face as he followed his boss down the stairs. By the time the pair caught up with Max, he was in deep negotiations with the Green Haired babe.  
  
"Are you willing to bet all that?" she asked, indicating Max's tray of tokens.  
  
"Actually," Muck interrupted, "We'll stake our winnings on this as well." Rick shot a surprised look at Muck, but held is tongue. Miriya's eyes narrowed as she recognized the red haired warrior who had shown her this place, but the extra tokens would take care of immediate expenses, allowing her to concentrate on finding the pilot who had so embarrassed her. In the end, that clinched the deal.  
  
"Very Well," she agreed, and the four of them moved to a head to head machine. Muck made a small flourish of stacking the trays of winnings to one side, squarely between the two, before feeding tokens into the machine.  
  
"Is level B acceptable to both of you?" Muck asked, receiving nods from both participants. He hit the configuration and start buttons, and sat back to watch history being made.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Despite the her premonition, the actual defeat of her red trimmed battleoid caused Miriya to gasp and slump back in her chair in confusion; She's always expected to find the Micronian ace, but not like this. The instant desire for revenge was tempered by her knowledge of micronian culture, this place was too crowded for her to do anything and get away. In addition, it would be all but impossible to get through the crowds swarming the ace.  
  
The finally indignity was when the red haired warrior slapped her quarry on the back and congratulated him, only to be told it 'really wasn't THAT hard.' She, the greatest Zentraedi pilot ever wasn't that much of a challenge? Shame warred with anger, and she propelled herself from her chair and started to bolt for the door; only to be restrained by the wrist. She whirled to strike down the presumptuous Micronian, but stopped when her eyes met the calm blue ones of her quarry.  
  
"Wait, Please," He asked. "I've been trying to speak with you for the longest time. I'd really like to get to know you better, and this might be my only chance to get your name and phone number."  
  
His grip was soft, yet also firm. and his touch sent shivers coursing along her entire body. At the time, she assumed it was the inbred loathing all Zentraedi had for the opposite sex; looking back on it later, she knew better. "My name is Miriya," she replied, "and I don't have a phone number."  
  
"Well, would you meet me for dinner tomorrow night? 7pm, by the peace fountain?"  
  
"Whatever you want!" Miriya snapped. "Just let me go." That disorienting grip slackened, allowing her to pull free and escape the arcade. It wasn't until the confusing feelings of that touch faded that she realized that she couldn't have done better if she'd planned. 'Oh yes, my enemy. I will meet you tomorrow night and end my humiliation, so I can leave this strange, confusing place.'  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck looked up from the sea of paperwork on his desk at the chime and hollered "Enter".  
  
Max, not wearing his uniform for once, entered and looked over the mess and shook his head. "You sure have a strange idea of recovery leave, Muck."  
  
"This? Not exactly. pilot rosters and preliminary training scenarios for the capitol ship plans. Besides, I'm so relaxed I'm ready to chew bulkheads and spit gun rounds. Whadddya need, Max?"  
  
"I'm trying to decide what to wear tonight. I was gonna ask the skipper, but he's not in his quarters. What do you think? The Tie, or the gold chain?"  
  
"You could always go whole hog. Tuxedo, top-hat, cape, cane, and mask. Be a real man of romance and mystery."  
  
Max considered it for a moment. "Well, there is a tux shop in the city. Naa, She'd probably think I was some sort of costumed freak. Nice thought, though."  
  
"Am I the only person in the multiverse who fell for that one?" Muck asked the ceiling before returning his attention to Max. "Don't bother with tie or chain, Max. I think you'll appreciate the freedom by the nights end."  
  
"Sheesh. You make it sound like I'm on my way to a knife fight, not a first date."  
  
Muck just rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion. "Shoo. Go, have a good time, Max. Just be back by morning muster, OK?"  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck leaned back in the outdoor chair and watched the Macross come to life around him. A little after 7am, ship time, and the street was only minimally crowded, with a fairly equal balance of foot and vehicular traffic. He was not quite alone on the sidewalk section of Java Joe's as he sipped his drink; three tables over there was a young couple engaged in conversation, their eyes with room for nothing but the other.  
  
Muck sighed at that, following it up with another sip. It was times like this that he worried about ever making his way back to Patricia; He'd like nothing better than to be sitting staring into her eyes the way that young couple were. And that didn't take into consideration that he still had to get home first and make certain the people he'd left behind THERE were all right.  
  
The green haired girl said something her blue haired companion found amusing. Muck snorted in amusement and went for another sip when the caffeine levels in his brain reached sufficient levels to boot up the logic section of his brain. It was just as the coffee reached his tongue that said logic cells provided the facts that Green Hair + Blue Hair must equal Miriya and Max. and that Max was about to be late reporting for duty! This provoked a rather spectacular shower of coffee, drawing Max and Miriya's attention, as well as a couple of looks of disgust from pedestrians who had just avoided Muck's impromptu fountain impersonation. Muck had a bad feeling, even before Max started to babble, forgetting he was in public.  
  
"Hey, Muck!" "Um, Max?" "There's someone I'd like you to meet!" "Max." "Miriya, this is Muck. Muck, Miriya Padrino, of." "MAX!"  
  
Max shut up and looked quizzically at Muck. "What?"  
  
"Ix-nay in ublic-pay, Max," Muck growled, low enough that only Max and Miriya could hear. Max looked around, as if noticing where he was for the first time in a while. entirely probable, given the level of smitten written all over the blue haired pilot's face. Realizing how public the present venue was, Max blushed a beet red and nodded. "Fred's around the corner. Save the talk till then," Muck finished, chucking his now empty coffee cup in the trashcan and heading out around the corner.  
  
Miriya was puzzled by this exchange, but put her trust in Max as he gathered her by the hand and lead the two of them around the corner as well. Her confusion only mounted as Max opened the door to one of the larger private transports Miriya had seen about town and helped her in. The red haired warrior, Muck, was already in, sitting in the front seat of the vehicle and turning to face them. Miriya wondered what happened to the companion Muck had mentioned, since there was no-one else in the vehicle. Still, the way the street noises dampened once the doors were closed indicated that their conversations would at least be more confidential. This show of common sense made her feel more at ease for the first time since she'd looked in those blue eyes the night before and her world changed completely.  
  
Muck looked at the love-struck couple in bemusement. However, there were still some problems that needed to be handled right now. He turned to Miriya first. "Miriya Padrino of the Quadrano elite battalion, I do believe. We've met, but never actually been introduced. I'm Micheal Thunders, but everyone calls me Muck." Miriya nodded slowly at this, absorbing the information; and recalling that she had, in fact, encountered the red haired warrior in the city prior to that fateful challenge a day and a half ago. Muck's attention focused on Max next. "Max, you're supposed to report for morning muster in like, five minutes, you know." This got Muck a shocked look from his fellow aviator, followed by an expression of surprise as Max checked his own watch to confirm that fact.  
  
Max recovered quickly though. "Good thing we met you then. We'll need a ride to the base anyway. I've got to take her to meet Rick, and we'll probably need to get his permission first if we're going to."  
  
"Time out!" Muck rumbled, making a t gesture with his hands. "You're going to take her to meet the CAG dressed like that?" He gestured at Miriya's vest and pant outfit. "Bad Idea."  
  
"I'm not leaving her alone, Muck. Forget it."  
  
"Didn't intend that. You and your new Missus are going clothes shopping." Muck cast around, gaze sweeping across the storefronts on either side of the street. "Get her something nice a frilly. like that, over there," he finished, indicating the yellow sundress in the storefront across the street. "Meet us in the officers mess for lunch. I'll cover for you till then."  
  
"OK, Muck. See ya then."  
  
--------  
  
To be continued in Chap. 11: Wedding Bell Blues. 


	11. Wedding Bell Blues

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2 - Wandering Aces Chapter 11: Wedding Bell Blues.  
  
The SDF-1 was once again a hive of activity; this time, though, they were making love, not war. The impending nuptials of Max Sterling and Miriya Padrino were on the forefront of most people's minds. The few that weren't concentrated on defending the ship, as always. Still, they rationalized that they were helping the wedding preparations in their own way, by ensuring that 'unruly gatecrashers' did not disturb the wedding, as they put it, often with a smile.  
  
Muck was one of the latter. with the air groups' two top pilots temporarily out of action; With Max as groom and Rick as Best Man, Muck was running the air wing for the time being. He hadn't been drafted for the job either, he'd volunteered, noting that he'd been so rested and recuperated he had a raging case of cabin fever! He'd also taken advantage of the chaos caused by the wedding to move up his flight physical and flight re-quals; citing the need for pilots who would not be involved in the wedding in some way.  
  
All of this explained why he was now over on the Daedalus, about to launch with a scratch team of twelve for Bar-Cap, while everyone else was placing the final touches on the 'big do'. The big D, as the squadrons assigned to it called it, was finally fully operational again after the damage caused by the Zentraedi's counterattack up the arm following a Daedalus maneuver, much to the relief of the pilots stationed on Prometheus - the resultant overcrowding had been a pain.  
  
Muck looked around at his scratch team and sighed. Half of his pilots were so green that this was their first sortie, and he'd been hard pressed to find any seasoned pilots to pair them with. Eleven thumbs-up met his visual query, and he sighed again before getting taxi clearance.  
  
He switched a side screen to a video feed and watched the 'honor guard' assemble on Prometheus. that meant the bride and groom would be arriving soon. However, the handler started waving him forward onto the catapult, so he killed the feed, and wished the couple luck as he taxied forward into 'the box'.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Bar-Cap on the SDF-1 could best be described as hours of numb backsides punctuated by minutes of sheer terror. As his team approached their patrol area, Muck hoped for the former, rather than the latter. Especially with half of his pilots so damn green, that's why he got on the radio one last time. "Ok people, listen up. On my call, break by pairs and take up your patrol stations. You greenies stay with your wingman no matter what. If any of you take off on your own, you'd better hope the Zentraedi get you, because I will give you such an ass chewing there won't be anything left to attach your legs too when you get back! Hammer flight, Standby to break by pairs and take station. Ready, Break!" Six pairs of fighters spread out and twelve pairs of eyes scanned sensor screens and the darkness ahead. Muck had the greenest of the green for his wingman, and his next two most experienced pilots were at each end of the spread; Muck hoped this would mean that no one was too far from mutual support, if his memory was right, the bad guys were coming. the only question was when.  
  
He'd placed the feed from the SDF-1's early warning radar on the center screen; and had just flipped from a close-up of his flight to check spacing to the 'god's eye' view for the umpteenth time when the first blips started to paint the edge. Two sweeps later that sector was a single lurid green splotch, just as CIC popped up on a side screen. "Hammer flight, CIC. Raid warning."  
  
"I see them, Sandy. Request permission for engagement plan Jericho."  
  
"Wait one." It didn't take long, though. "Engagement plan Jericho approved. We're scrambling everyone, hold line is Indigo."  
  
"Hammer lead copies Jericho to Indigo, out." Muck flipped to the squadron channel. "Ok you apes, time to earn your pay. Engagement plan Jericho. One salvo per fall-back, re-enforcement's will be waiting at Indigo." Five half bored and six rather excited rogers echoed back. The enemy was close enough now for the VT's on-board radar to start tracking them, and Muck designated targets; passing four to each pair of fighters. Muck watched the range close until the targets were in sure kill range before giving the command to open fire.  
  
Twenty-four missiles screamed from the twelve fighters and found their targets, but the VT's hadn't hung around to watch. As soon as the missiles were away, they'd turned 180 and fell back under after-burner to the middle bar-cap line, Mauve. The Zentraedi pushed forward in pursuit of the flight, only to loose another two dozen pods as the fighters of Hammer flight turned and launched again.  
  
The enemy had blood in its eyes now as it tore after the once again retreating fighters, only to run into a solid wall of missile launches as it reached the inner Bar Cap area Indigo. This time, however, the fighters did not fall back; the fighters of Hammer flight, re-enforced by the inner patrol squadron and the pilots from the wedding surged forward into the killing ground.  
  
In that swirling melee unit cohesion broke down, individual wings and pilots turned and fired and lived and died. Muck had just hosed down a pod with GU-11 fire, only to have an explosion behind him announced the loss of his wingman. The enemy pod settled in behind him, clinging doggedly through break and jink, closing in for the kill. Just before the pod opened fire, Muck went to Guardian mode and full deceleration, placing him behind the pod, just in time to see its fundament belch flame. The pod, still intact, drifted off otherwise lifeless as a blue-trimmed D model trainer flashed past.  
  
"That wasn't a kill, Max." Muck growled.  
  
"Nope, but he's still out of the fight," came the reply. "It's time to put actions to words and stop the bloodshed. By the way, thanks for the coffee pot."  
  
"It's just a loner, Max. Fabrication has been so backlogged they can't make yours till next week. Use mine till then." Even as he was talking with Max, the probe brain he shared space with was analyzing the results of Max's attack pass and displaying the target point as well as the firing points to hit it from in one corner of Muck's vision. A quick pass showed that it worked as advertised, and Muck too started disabling pods with a vengeance. Yet, for every pod destroyed or disabled, two more moved in from the rear of the formation to take it's place. Slowly the defensive sphere formed by the fighters contracted, drawing closer to the SDF-1, with the massive Zentraedi battle-wagons moving in behind.  
  
Then, much more suddenly than the attack began, it was over, the battle-wagons recalling their mecha and falling back from the SDF-1. For Muck, it was even more sudden and disorienting. He'd found Rick in the chaos and formed up as his wingman. The two of them were up to their eyeballs in pods one moment, locked in a deadly dance of dodge and disable, then the next, or so it seemed, space around them was empty. "Do we pursue, Boss?" he asked.  
  
"Negative. We need to get re-organized first. Squadron Leaders, Skull one. Get your flights back together and lets see where we stand."  
  
"Roger that, One. Hammer flight, Hammer lead. Check in."  
  
By the time the SDF-1's defenders got everything re-organized, it was clear that the enemy had broken off action, not just fallen back to re- group. Hammer flight had been lucky. only Muck's wingman had been lost. Every group had losses, but they were less than Rick had originally feared. Hammer flight was low on ammo and fuel, so they were recovered first, a relatively fresh squadron replacing them on patrol.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Rick was relaxing in his cabin when Muck finally arrived to bring him up to speed on the air group's affairs while Rick had been busy with the wedding; not that Rick had any doubts about Muck's judgement, but so that Rick was aware of the present state of ongoing activities. Occasional sounds of cooking and general marital bliss drifted through the wall from the Sterling's new quarters next door; clearly the sound-proofing hadn't been installed yet.  
  
Muck had just moved from general squadron updates to the status of his ongoing development of the capitol ship strike plan when he was interrupted by the beeping of a smoke detector. A concerned check revealed that the detector in question was next door in the Sterling's quarters. From the overheard conversation, it became apparent that Miriya had accidentally added some cooking oil to the coffeepot. was that wrong? A thumping noise distracted Rick from the rest of the conversation. it seems that Muck was thumping his head on the coffee table.  
  
"What gives? You'd think it was the end of the world, Muck."  
  
"I'm the one who gave them that coffee-pot, boss."  
  
Rick smiled at that. Muck's coffee snobbery had made him the butt of more than one joke in the ready room, but this was a touch of over- reaction. "You'd think it was your miracle machine the way you're carrying on."  
  
"It is. or was, anyway. Fabrication couldn't make a duplicate for the wedding in time because of all the other work going on. so I lent Max mine until they could catch up." The pained look on Muck's face as he finished the explanation was the final straw as Rick broke down into hysterics at that.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The next three days were quiet; which was something of a mixed blessing. The mechanics were able to make headway in replacing the air group's physical losses. pilot losses were another matter. And over those three days the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop grew. By the time it did, in a way no one had expected, tensions were wire tight.  
  
Muck was one of the few unconcerned. about enemy intentions, anyway. At the moment, he was up to his eyeballs in his own work. He'd finally gotten approval to implement the capitol ship program he'd been working on since his arrival in this fica; at the moment he was down supervising a training simulation for those assigned to the project. There had been some grumbling at first, because the pilots he'd wanted were now quite senior in the air group hierarchy. All had been flying combat since the SDF had arrived at Pluto by mistake; the eleven chosen also had the most combat experience in close proximity to capitol ships as well. The only people exempted from his search were the squadron commanders; in more than one case they'd been upset at loosing their best pilots until it had been explained that this program would be in addition to the pilot's normal flight duties.  
  
Muck's ad-hoc attack squadron had unanimously dubbed him crazy when he'd first briefed them on the project; that had changed to crazy like a fox after the first few sims. The progress made had been swift as well; these hardy survivors only needing to have it explained what they did wrong once. Not to say that they always performed correctly in the next sim, but it certainly was obvious that they were aware of areas they needed to concentrate on. For most everyone, that was electronic warfare. something they'd normally had to deal with on the receiving end, not the delivery end. Still, if Muck could just get one more week of training his team, he was certain they'd be more than up to their task.  
  
Muck had settled on attack groups of 3. One plane would make the attack run on the engines, that being the most vulnerable target. The other two would concentrate on fighter suppression and electronic warfare, respectively. In addition, each pilot would fly a Super VT, with a weapon load-out that would allow it to perform all three roles, allowing a triad to take out as many as three ships. That was the theory, anyway; he figured he'd be lucky to get one ship per strike at the moment.  
  
Any further practice (or authorial exposition) was cut short by the all hands klaxon, calling the pilots to battle stations.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Muck wasn't surprised to find that he was the last person to arrive at Skull squadron's ready room. However, it became apparent that he had time to pull on his flight suit and survival gear, because the squadron was not about to launch. Instead, the various TV screens at the front of the room showed a single Zentraedi warship, almost dead ahead of the SDF-1. As he finished dressing for flight, a swarm of mecha came up behind the warship and flashed on past, towards the SDF-1, only to be annihilated by friendly fire from the approaching warship. Muck nodded to himself, a gesture noted by both Rick and Max, who then wondered just what was about to happen next. Both were certain that whatever it was, Muck knew. but they couldn't ask with the other pilots of Skull present.  
  
The ready room phone rang, and Rick picked it up. He listened for a long few moments before he acknowledged the message, then turned back to his assembled pilots. "Ok, we have orders. Apparently, the approaching ship is requesting peace talks and wishes to send over an emissary. We're going to provide an Honor guard to escort him in. and to be ready in case this is some sort of trick. Man your planes, but rules of engagement bravo- four are in effect. Absolutely no weapon fire unless you're attacked first. Understood?"  
  
The pilots of Skull grumbled a little, but relayed their understanding as they got to their feet and filed out of the room to man their planes. Last out was Muck, again, who stopped for a moment to phone some last second instructions down to his plane captain. This made it easy for the two leaders of Skull to corner him.  
  
"Ok, what gives. You look like you've been expecting this," Rick observed.  
  
"I don't think you want to know." Muck hedged.  
  
"Yes, we do," Max replied. "Miriya is going to be out there with us. I need to know she'll be ok."  
  
Muck read the expression in Max's eyes. "Ok. They really are sending over an emissary. However, shortly after this meeting, all hell is going to break loose." Max and Rick exchanged looks, but the time pressures kept them from pressing further. As the three pilots headed down to the hanger deck, Rick had one last question. "Ok, so what's with the armament change?"  
  
"Command's worried it's a Trojan Horse, right?" Rick would have given Muck a piercing stare, was he not used to this by now. Instead, he let Muck continue. "So, I'm gonna fly a Wild Weasel load. Its el-int(1) pod and jamming gear should put that worry to rest."  
  
Max gave Rick a 'you asked' look, as the three pilots hurried across the hanger deck to their fighters. The ordies were still scrambling to change the armament on Muck's VT as they mounted up, making him the last plane to be lifted to the flight deck. Still, the long fight had paid its own dividends of a very real sort; Muck's plane was loaded and on-deck before the rest of Skull had finished launching. With the addition of Miriya as a pilot, some had grumbled about who was 'lucky 13'. however the general consensus was that whoever it was, it was someone ELSE.  
  
"Combat Diamond, people." Rick snapped over the radio. "Let's look professional. Muck, you're in the middle."  
  
Skull's experience as a unit showed as the planes quickly moved into a parade formation without comment; and held station on each other with a precision that the Blue Angels of years past would have envied; even with the addition of Miriya to the roster. The formation turned gracefully and came to a halt midway off the flank of the warship which had come promising peace; as if on cue, a single pod launched from one of the ship's massive bays and flew a non-evasive course for the formation. As promised, the pod had been striped of all offensive weapons; in fact it only carried a single secondary channel radio, one which could be easily jammed by Muck's ECM equipment.  
  
Muck didn't even have to make an 'official' report. As he looked up from the secondary displays, all three comm windows were open, showing CIC, the Bridge, and Rick. A single thumbs up was all that was required with the others signing off before he said anything; almost immediately Vanessa came over the audio channel shared with the pod, instructing it to join up with Skull for escort to the SDF-1. Skull squadron turned smartly as the pod formed up on Muck's wing, escorting the pod back to the SDF-1.  
  
Muck was caught as much off guard as anyone else when Sammy came on the com-net just after the escort flight cleared the inner-most defense perimeter. "Skull one-three, Skull will escort the emissary the rest of the way in. You're signal is RTB, Buster."  
  
"Skull one-three is RTB, Buster." Muck replied, his VT smoothly arcing up and out of the formation before piling on burners and heading for the Prometheus' landing pattern.  
  
"Roger, Skull one-three," Sammy noted before snapping off the com- channel. At the front of the formation, Rick raised a mental eyebrow at all of this, but didn't worry to much. While Muck might have been best placed to catch any tom-foolery the Pod might pull, Max and Miriya were at the back of the formation, right behind the pod. Rick figured that even without a warning from Muck, at best the pod might get a single shot off before Miriya disabled it.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
There was an MP waiting with a Jeep as Muck taxied his VT off the elevator / airlock and into the Prometheus hanger deck, along with a tow cart and his plane captain. Muck cut the engines and was out of the cockpit as soon as it was open enough. As soon as he hit the deck, the MP saluted even as Jake Grafton, Muck's plane captain, handed him the sign-in board.  
  
"Captain Thunders, sir," the MP explained as soon as Muck returned the salute, "I'm Lt. Roberts. The captain wants you to be part of the emissary's escort, Sir. If you'll come with me?"  
  
"In my flight suit?" observed a startled Muck.  
  
"I took the liberty of stopping by your quarters on the way here, Sir. I have a dress uniform in the back; you can change while I drive, Sir." This earned said Lt. a strange look, but Muck hopped into the Jeep and had started peeling out of his flight suit even before Roberts pulled out, tires squealing.  
  
The jeep was equipped with flashing lights and siren, and Lt. Roberts made use of them as the jeep roared down various lightly traveled passageways. "Just what am I supposed to do, Lieutenant?" Muck shouted over the wind noise and siren as he slipped on the high collared turtleneck that went under the uniform tunic.  
  
"Sir, Captain Gloval wants you to be the emissary's personal escort and watcher, so to speak. He said you'd be best to catch anything unusual, sir."  
  
Muck snorted. "How did Maistroff take the news?"  
  
"I think he almost had a stroke, sir."  
  
"I think I like you already, Lieutenant. Even if you are an MP."  
  
"Thank you, sir. I think," replied Roberts as the jeep pulled into one of the main landing bays and pulled to a stop. The Pod was already in, with the mecha of Skull squadron in battleoid mode at port arms, forming a corridor through which the emissary's pod had clearly just passed. The pod knelt and opened, revealing the giant warrior inside, as Lt. Roberts wheeled the jeep around and left. The fifty-foot warrior unfolded himself from the cramped confines of the pod, and glowered at the mecha around him before a small reedy voice spoke up from inside the pod. The warrior jerked as if shocked by a live wire, and rumbled an apology in his alien language as he turned back to the pod and lifted a rather small person by human standards out and set him gently on the deck. Muck had been to far away to hear the initial exchange, but he hurried over to greet his charge. He'd gotten close enough to hear Minister Exedore's comments about frail bodies and the impressiveness of full size Zentraedi warriors when the PA crackled to life, calling everyone to attention.  
  
A convoy of limousines, complete with bumper flags for the RDF and the UEDC pulled up, between Muck and Exedore; Muck took his cue and walked around to open the door of the lead Limousine, revealing Col. Maistroff. He was rewarded with a poisonous glare, but Maistroff said nothing, instead walking towards the emissary; forcing Muck to fall in one step behind and to the right, as befitted a junior officer, as other officers exited the limousines un-noticed behind them.  
  
Col. Maistroff closed to within two paces of Exedore before stopping and coming to attention, capping it off with a sharp salute. "Colonel Maistroff, Robotech Defense Force. Captain Gloval sends his respects and welcomes you aboard the SDF-1."  
  
Exedore nodded gravely before replying, switching to English as he did. "Thank you. I am Exedore, Minister of Affairs." He turned to Muck. "And who is this?"  
  
Muck stuck out his hand. "Captain Thunders, USAF. I'll be your escort while aboard, Minister."  
  
Exedore eyed the proffered hand warily, giving Maistroff a chance to step back in. "This is how we greet friends, Minister," Maistroff provided, and Exedore accepted the handshake. "If you'll come with us, Captain Thunders will get you some more comfortable clothes and take you to the captain." Exedore nodded at this, and started to follow the pair of uniformed officers to the waiting transport. An intermittent earthquake erupted behind them, and the trio turned to see Exedore's pilot had started to follow as well.  
  
"With all due respect, Minister," Muck noted, "Could you ask your pilot to wait here on the hanger deck?"  
  
Exedore looked at the small scale of most of the hatches on the hanger deck and nodded in comprehension, before raising his voice to address his pilot in Zentraedi. Maistroff took advantage of the distraction to wave a couple of aides over and pass some instructions as well. The trio climbed into the limousine, and the convoy pulled out, leaving the two aides behind.  
  
"Something to EAT? You have GOT to be kidding me!" the first aide protested.  
  
"The colonel may do a lot of things, but he doesn't kid. I'll call rationing, you round up a couple of flatbeds," replied the second.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
As the convoy headed deeper into the SDF-1, Exedore took advantage of the relative privacy of the Limousine to try and clear up some of his growing confusion. "Excuse me, but I was under the impression that, like us, your vessel only has one commanding officer."  
  
"That's right, sir," Muck replied, as Maistroff remained silent and observed.  
  
"Yet you were described by the same rank title," Exedore continued.  
  
"That's because I come from a different branch of the military, that uses different rank designations, Minister. My rank is actually more equivalent to a First Lieutenant aboard ship," Muck replied with a twinkle in his eyes. "It confuses a lot of civilians as well." Exedore nodded at this, staring out the window as the convoy entered the hold containing Macross City. Muck took advantage of that to change the topic. "If you'll look outside, Minister, you can see Macross City. In fact, at the moment we're moving through the central shopping district."  
  
"Ah, yes," Exedore noted, drawing on the mass of information gleaned from the various transmissions from the escaped battle-fortress. "This is where you use something called Money to requisition goods and services." Beside Exedore, Maistroff looked to be containing a giggle behind his poker face, but the expressionless expression held. barely.  
  
Muck winked at Maistroff before taking back up the narrative. "That's about as good a description as I've ever heard, Minister. It's a little more complicated in practice, though." Exedore nodded, and turned his attention back out the window. After a couple of moments, he stiffened as if shot, snapping his gaze back into the car; shuddering and breaking out into a cold sweat as he did. Muck and Maistroff both snapped their heads around to look, catching sight of the Miss Velvet billboard as Exedore finally got his next words out.  
  
"And that picture captain?" Exedore's tone of voice sounded rather queasy. "Could you explain that for me."  
  
Muck looked to Maistroff, but the answering glare told him; 'You brought it up, You deal with it.' Sighing, Muck tried to explain. "Now THAT is a complicated subject, Minister. I've been trying to understand it for 18 years now, and I still don't know that much."  
  
"Ah," noted Exedore, deciding that there could only be one reason one couldn't learn everything about a topic. "I see. A military secret of some form, I take it?"  
  
Muck wasn't certain if Maistroff was about to tear his head off, or burst from laughing at the way Muck was on the spot. "Um, Right, Minister. Classified. Whatever you say sir," Muck agreed, as the convoy raced towards the main conference room.  
  
  
  
Continued in TotW 2-12: The Heavy End.  
  
---------  
  
(1) El-Int. Electronic Intelligence: Gathering information about the radio, radar, and other electronic emmissions of an enemy. 


	12. The Heavy End

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 12: The Heavy End  
  
Captain Gloval was waiting by the hatch when Muck finally escorted Minister Exedore into the main conference room. "Minister Exedore. I'm glad to finally meet you in person," Gloval observed, holding out his hand.  
  
"Yes, I'm glad to meet face to face as well," Exedore agreed, accepting the handshake, while behind them Col. Maistroff entered.  
  
"Colonel." Gloval observed. "I think we're missing some people, aren't we?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. They should be arriving momentarily, though."  
  
Gloval nodded, then indicated the witness stand. "Very well. If you'd take your seat, Minister, We'll begin as soon as they arrive." Exedore nodded at this, and took the indicated seat, Muck standing behind him and to his right. A young third lieutenant entered, bearing a tray of orange juice, placing a glass where the Minister could reach it. Exedore raised the glass and took a cautious sip, the looked up at the Lieutenant.  
  
"This is quite refreshing. What is it?"  
  
Muck looked up to Gloval and got a nod of approval before answering for the young officer. "It's called orange juice, Minister. From our on- board hydroponics orchards."  
  
"You GROW this?" Exedore probed.  
  
"Actually, we grow the fruit it comes from, Minister."  
  
"Ah. I see," mused Exedore, finishing the glass while he considered the implications of this statement. He placed the empty glass on the table as the young officer returned from her rounds. "That was very refreshing. Thank you," he enthused.  
  
"Your welcome, sir. Would you like another?" she inquired with a bright smile, replacing the empty glass with a full one.  
  
"If you insist," Exedore replied lightly, and she moved off with a nod.  
  
As she left, Max and Miriya Sterling entered. "Reporting as ordered, Captain," Max supplied, as the pair came to attention and saluted.  
  
"Ah! Hello, Quadrano Leader," Exedore interjected, coming to his feet, orange juice forgotten.  
  
"Minister Exedore!" Miriya gulped in astonishment, then quickly saluted him in Zentraedi style. "My apologies, sir, no one told me YOU were the emissary!" Though she was a head taller than Exedore, she had that guilty look of all children when suddenly caught by their parent. She glanced at Max, then back to Exedore. "You're probably wondering why I."  
  
Exedore held up his hand in a gentle gesture, and Miriya stopped, blushing. "We did find your Mating ritual. Marriage? Quite provocative, but that is not why I am here. I shall explain as soon as everyone arrives. I take it this is the male half of your bonding?"  
  
"Umm, Yes, Minister." Miriya replied sheepishly. Beside her, Max was in a bit of a snit, and considered kissing her to remind her of just what their marriage really meant, at least to him. The hatch opened again, admitting Rick Hunter, who crossed to Max and said something only Max could hear.  
  
This prompted Exedore back to his feet, as he suddenly shouted; "Of course! The Micronization process must have affected my memory somehow! You're two of the captives from Breetai's Flagship, aren't you?" Max and Rick expressed a bit of bafflement at this, but Exedore continued unabated. "How did you escape? Was it yet another secret Micronian power?"  
  
Muck, who knew well that Max had secreted himself aboard by disguising his Veritech as a Zentraedi solder, stepped in to deflect the conversation. "Yes, Minister. Another Military Secret, sir." Apparently satisfied, Exedore nodded and sat back down as Rick, Max, and Miriya found seats.  
  
The hatch opened once more, admitting the Rico, Konda, and Bron. "Well, I must admit that I didn't expect the leaders of our mass defection to actually attend," Exedore observed aloud, causing an instant panic attack in the three micronized warriors, who huddled together as panicked eyes searched for a way out.  
  
"M-m-m-Minister Exedore!" Rico finally stammered. "Please, Your Excellency! It wasn't our fault, really!" Konda and Bron also began to protest their innocence, but Exedore again silenced them with the same gentle hand gesture he had used on Miriya.  
  
"Relax, please. I assure you I have no intention of harming you," Exedore proclaimed in a gentle tone. The three sighed a quite audible breath of relief as they sagged against each other in a most comic fashion.  
  
Maistroff cleared his throat as the last arrivals found seats. "I believe that's everyone, Captain. The ship's computer will record the proceedings for us."  
  
"Very well," Gloval rumbled, pushing up his cap from over his eyes. "Minister, you've told us very little so far, so we are unclear as to the exact reason of your mission here. Would you be so kind as to enlighten us?"  
  
"You're curiosity is understandable, Captain, but not everyone is here yet." A murmur of astonishment circulated, but Exedore continued unabated. "There are two of your kind who we are most interested in. The first possesses powers and skills that can only be called extraordinary; the second, the female who seems to form the core of your psychological assault."  
  
The three defectors leaned closer together in some sort of private conversation as the rest exchanged puzzled looks. "I'm afraid I can't think of anyone who would be at the core of a psychological assault, Minister. If you would please be more specific?"  
  
"He means the Lynns, Captain," Muck supplied from behind Minister Exedore, who had stood once more.  
  
"Is that her name?" Exedore inquired twisting to look behind him before looking back at Gloval. "At any rate, she is performing some kind of strange chant." Exedore picked up the forgotten glass of orange juice and held it like a microphone.  
  
"Stage Fright, go away! This is my big day." Exedore crooned in a creaky falsetto.  
  
"He IS talking about Minmei!" The three spies exclaimed. Rick and Max exchanged incredulous glances as Gloval pulled his hat low over his eyes again and did his best to impersonate a turtle. Maistroff stared at the overhead for a long moment, before looking straight at Muck.  
  
"Captain Thunders. Get your jeep and bring the Lynns here," Maistroff snapped.  
  
"Aye aye, sir." Muck replied, giving a snappy salute and beating feet while Maistroff and Gloval tried to think of a polite way to ask the Minister to PLEASE stop singing.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"That's Her!" Exedore exclaimed as Minmei finally stepped through the briefing room hatchway. The exclamation caused her to stop, looking around in confusion like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  
  
Her cousin Kyle followed a moment later, grumbling about being pushed around by the military, followed by Muck, who had a look on his face Gloval remembered well from his Babushka (1). a look of disappointment mixed with an iron determination to not put up with any foolishness.  
  
"Can someone please explain what this is about?" sighed Minmei in a tired voice.  
  
Kyle stepped around her, as if to protect her. "I wouldn't expect any answers from these people; they're only concerned with their fascist war plans, not peace."  
  
He was cut short by Muck grabbing his elbow from behind, spinning Kyle to face him. "It just so happens this is a peace conference, so I suggest that you button it and co-operate or this fascist war pig is going to kick you out of the nearest airlock so hard you'll make it back to earth on sheer momentum." Kyle's eyes flared, then stopped as he caught something in Muck's eyes.  
  
"That will be ENOUGH, Thunders," Gloval barked.  
  
Muck stiffened, releasing Lynn Kyle's arm. "Yes sir. My apologies, sir." Kyle rubbed his arm, but sullenly made his way across the room to an available seat.  
  
Gloval glared at the still petulant Kyle. "These proceedings are strictly classified. You will answer our questions, and if you ever speak about what you hear today to anyone, hope that Captain Thunders there gets to you before I do. Is that Understood?"  
  
"Yes, Captain," Minmei replied gently while Kyle leaned back in his chair and sulked; Minmei placed a hand on his shoulder. "They need our help. Can't you see that hostility isn't going to get us anywhere?" Kyle shot Minmei a petulant look, but finally nodded in agreement.  
  
Gloval looked to Exedore, and irritation crept into his tone. "Now, Minister, if you would _please_ tell us what this is all about?"  
  
"All in its proper order, Captain. However, I assure you my presence here is of critical importance to both our races." All the military officers exchanged startled glances; Exedore's attention was on Lynn Kyle. "Officer Kyle. What exactly is your military rank?"  
  
Kyle replied with a snort. "I have no rank. I am a civilian, and won't have anything to do with the military."  
  
"Someone with your superior fighting skills and super-powers? Aboard this ship? I think not," Exedore observed in an icy tone.  
  
"Super-powers? What are you talking about?" snarled Kyle.  
  
"The ones you demonstrate in the history recording 'Little White Dragon'," Exedore countered, drawing looks of astonishment from everyone but Muck.  
  
"That's not a historical document, Minister," Muck interjected, breaking the tableau.  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"No sir. It's what we call a movie. It's something we made up, something to entertain us and distract us from the war out there." Muck supplied.  
  
"Captain Thunders is correct, Minister," Gloval added. "None of us have the sort of powers you've just described."  
  
"I see." From his tone, clearly Exedore was skeptical, but willing to accept that claim at face value. "And your energy barrier and destructive wave?"  
  
"Both are based on technology we found aboard this ship," Gloval admitted.  
  
"But you forget the Protoculture!" Exedore exclaimed. "The great Matrix which was Zor's greatest accomplishment, which he hid aboard this ship before sending it here. A power which allows things like THIS!" Exedore pointed to the main viewing screen, which then displayed a video clip. Alien glyphs of the Zentraedi language appeared along the edges, identifying the source. The image was centered on a lone Super VT in Battliod mode. As the clip began to play, the VT drew a sword from somewhere and landed briefly on a rounded surface, making a slashing cut which pierced deeply into the surface. It then made a throwing motion and a golden streak flew from its left arm and off screen, before the VT leapt away. As it did, the focus changed, revealing the curved surface to be the top of a Zentraedi battlepod, and the miniature scale of the VT; such a small scale that it could only be one person. Star Ranger. "This clip was taken from the battle recorders on one of our officer's pods. The officer in question had no idea of what had happened to him. I only discovered it upon later study of the recordings. This sort of Micronization is only possible through the power of Protoculture!" Exedore concluded in triumph.  
  
Gloval Glared at Muck, who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Perhaps YOU would like to explain this to the Minister?"  
  
"Umm, yes sir." Muck turned to Minister Exedore, who looked to him with challenge in his eyes. "What you're seeing isn't what you think your seeing, Minister," Muck admitted. Exedore raised an eyebrow at this but remained silent for the moment. "What your seeing on the screen is. well. Me. It doesn't have anything to do with Protoculture at all."  
  
Exedore sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in disbelief; Muck sighed and plowed forward. "You see, Minister, I'm not even from around here, really. Well, I do come from earth, just not THIS earth." Exedore leaned forward, intrigued, and indicated for Muck to continue. "Well, basically what happened is that where I come from, I was a hotshot inventor. I was working on teleportation, a system somewhat similar to the spacefolds your fleet and the SDF-1 use. Only problem was, I had to prove the concept, so I made a bad decision. I used insufficiently tested equipment and a flawed theory to teleport myself into my boss's lab while she was showing HER bosses around. The idea was to make such a big impression that they wouldn't think of canceling my program. However, My targeting was off, and I wound up arriving in a spot that was already occupied by another piece of matter. a robotic probe my boss was working on." Exedore winced at that piece of information. Muck realized that the Zentraedi had probably lost more than one ship to such bad targeting. "Still, I was lucky, I guess. Instead of being blown into my component atoms, I was merged with the probe. Like this." Muck stepped away from the wall, making certain that there was clear space around him. His skin silvered, then rippled, loosing all definition. The silvering spread across his uniform, growing slightly and becoming blockish before solidifying into the form of Star Ranger. The final touch was the silvering running away from the center of the form to the limbs; leaving the paint-job and final details behind as it vanished.  
  
Exedore leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Gloval and Maistroff had both seen the change before; both studied Exedore's reaction intently. The others simply stared with various expressions of shock, surprise, and disbelief. Rick and Max, who knew about this, but hadn't seen Muck actually change, watched intently as Star Ranger became Micheal Thunders once more. "Later, I tried to stop someone from using a similar technology, only to have it self-destruct at point blank range. Instead of being killed, though, I wound up here." There, of course, was a bit more to all of it than that, but Muck didn't want to add more confusion to the already delicate situation.  
  
"I see," mused Exedore, turning back to Gloval and leaning forward in his chair. "But if you do not have the Matrix, where is it?"  
  
A deep quiet settled over the briefing room, broken when Gloval turned to Maistroff. "I think we're ready for Dr. Lang." Maistroff nodded, and, as if on cue, the briefing room hatch slid open to admit the ships resident genius, Dr. Lang. the one person on board who knew the most about the secrets of the SDF-1. Both Lynns gasped at the sight of his alien eyes, transformed to all pupil by the Robo-technological boost he'd accidentally triggered when the ship was first boarded.  
  
"We have heard you mention Protoculture repeatedly, Minister. Will you tell me what it is?" Land asked, bluntly.  
  
"How can you not know? Protoculture is the greatest energy source in the galaxy. It is what powers our ships and battle mecha. of both your fleet and ours. The great matrix is what makes this ship so important to us."  
  
Lang shook his head. "I have been searching this ship since your fleet arrived in our system, and I have found nothing like that aboard. However, I believe I know what has happened. Come with me, Please." Lang turned and moved towards the hatch; Muck glanced up to Gloval, who was already on his feet.  
  
"Captain Thunders, you will escort the Minister," Gloval confirmed. "Everyone else remain here, please. We'll be back shortly."  
  
"Aye Aye, Sir," Muck replied. "Minister, if you would be so kind as to follow me?"  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"If you will recall, when you first attacked, we were forced to attempt a space-fold," Lang was explaining as the quartet entered the large compartment that used to contain the SDF-1's fold generator. "However, we had no chance to experiment, or test. A jump that was just to take us to the far side of the moon took us out past Pluto, instead."  
  
"Yes, I remember that quite well. You jumped from far too deep in your planet's gravity well. We were convinced you were quite suicidal," Exedore replied. "In fact, you're lucky you survived at all."  
  
"It was a result of our ignorance," Gloval admitted. "We didn't know, so I tried to get us as close to where we'd performed the initial experiments."  
  
"As a result of this. miscalculation, we had another un-anticipated side effect," Lang continued. "The space-fold apparatus just vanished. Faded from view completely; leaving only these." Lang indicated the mysterious flittering lights that now populated the center of the compartment; the mysterious energies that powered the SDF-1's defensive system.  
  
"May I borrow some of your instruments for a moment, Doctor?" Exedore inquired. Lang nodded, and the small platform grew silent as Exedore manipulated the sensors. In this quiet, the small ring of Muck's remote link to FRED was clearly audible, and drew an irritated look from Gloval. Muck blushed, and stepped out of the compartment before answering the device, disguised as a cell phone.  
  
"What is it, FRED? I'm kinda busy here." Muck grumbled.  
  
"Well excuse me. I thought that informing you that I've just picked up the same sort of emissions as my damaged sensor pack might actually be important."  
  
"Are you certain?"  
  
"I'm a computer. Of course I'm certain. Why, do you think you know where the emanations are coming from. correction. Were coming from, they've just stopped."  
  
"Minister Exedore was using some of Lang's instruments," Muck observed. "You're certain about this?"  
  
"I'm a computer. I don't make mistakes."  
  
"Oh? Then how do you explain." What ever Muck was about to say in rebuttal was cut off by the emergence of Exedore and company, Muck quickly closed the link and put it away.  
  
"All of Zor's Secrets, Lost!" Exedore was lamenting. "This long war, fought for nothing."  
  
Lang patted the Minister's shoulder consolingly. "Perhaps we will find it again. who can say?"  
  
"We need to return to the briefing room," Gloval observed gruffly. "There is still much we need to discuss."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"It does appear that we have made a great mistake," Exedore admitted when everyone was once more ensconced in the briefing room. "However, you cannot deny the power of this girl's songs!"  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it," Gloval admitted.  
  
"That's because its true!" "Minmei's songs have great power!" The three spies were tripping over each other word-wise, making it hard to tell who had said what. yet they clearly agreed on this point.  
  
Exedore grunted. "This is not the first time our race has encountered something like this. Generations ago, we encountered another culture much like yours and it nearly destroyed us."  
  
"How so?" inquired a confused but interested Maistroff.  
  
"For us Zentraedi, fighting is our way of life. However, when our troops were exposed to an emotionally open culture similar to yours they refused to fight." Exedore explained. "This could not be tolerated, so loyal troops were brought in, assisted by our creators, the Robotech Masters themselves, to destroy everyone who had been in contact with this civilization to destroy this contagion before it spread." As the impact of this began to penetrate, a deep concern; pierced with a growing horror began to settle over the room. "If and when our supreme commander Dolza reads my report he will have no choice but to make the same decision and launch an all out attack on this system with the entire Grand Fleet; especially in light of the fact that Zor's matrix is no longer aboard this ship."  
  
Gloval looked to Rick and Max. "The one mentioned in your report."  
  
Rick Hunter nodded glumly. "Yes sir." 'Five million ships worth, give or take a couple of thousand, sir.'  
  
Exedore nodded as well. "I can see what you are thinking. However, these new developments such as our defections, the Minmei cult, and the mating of our greatest warrior with one of your pilots change the picture dramatically." Exedore paused. "Because if a solution cannot be found, everyone in our fleet is in as much danger from the Grand Fleet as you are."  
  
A dead silence filled the briefing room for a long moment until the com-unit at Gloval's seat began to ring. "Gloval. Hmm? Yes, by all means, set it up immediately, and pipe it down here for the Minister." He looked up at the assembled faces as he hung up the handset. "Minister Exedore, your flagship wishes to communicate with you, immediately. Our communications technicians will patch the channel through to the handset on your desk."  
  
Exedore nodded grimly, a nasty premonition of what this was all about growing in his mind. Almost on cue, the communication terminal at the witness desk rang, and the minister picked it up with a trembling hand. "Exedore here. Yes, M'lord. She has? You're certain of this? Yes, I know what this means. I understand, M'lord." His hand was trembling enough now that it took two attempts to replace the handset in its cradle; yet his eyes were calm as he looked up at the others assembled. "You must prepare yourselves to escape this star system. We will help you."  
  
Gloval eyed the Minister carefully. "Out of the question. We have sworn to defend this planet," he declared flatly.  
  
Exedore nodded wearily. "I understand. We would act no differently. What's more, without your help, we cannot escape either; our supplies of Protoculture are all but exhausted, and Zor's great matrix was our last hope." He sighed. "It appears we will soon be fighting a common enemy. the Grand Fleet."  
  
Maistroff exploded at this news. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"  
  
Exedore wearily eyed the Colonel. "My lord Breetai has just informed me that the Grand Fleet is on its way to this star system. Four million ships with the firepower of a super-nova."  
  
The briefing room exploded into commotion. Lynn-Kyle was expressing futility, while those from the military seemed resigned to the inevitable. Max and Miriya only regretted not having longer together. Exedore looked around, and decided that the warriors, at least, were indeed worthy allies. Pushing himself to his feet, his voice garnered everyone's attention. "It is not over yet! There may yet be a way!" The silence in the wake of this statement was as sudden as switching off a light.  
  
"Explain, Please," Gloval guardedly asked.  
  
"Thus far, this vessel, in your hands has proven itself unbeatable! I need some more information to be certain, but I do believe there *IS* a way we can win!" Exedore replied, his voice now steady and his entire body language screaming certainty. A certainty that slowly but certainly spread to everyone else present as well.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
To be concluded in Chapter 13 "Hammer Time!"  
  
----------  
  
(1) Babushka: Russian for grandmother. 


	13. Hammer Time

Tales of the Wanderer: Book 2: Wandering Ace Chapter 13: "Hammer Time"  
  
The word had been passed; deep within the SDF-1 the first deliberate preparations for battle began. Red shirted ordnance men began the tricky business of arming the ships various weapon systems, from the huge ship mounted DECCA missiles that were larger than old time ICBM's to the hundreds of missiles and chain gun rounds needed for her fleet of Veritechs. Mechanics and plane captains worked feverishly to finish repairs to as many VT's and Destroids as possible in the short time remaining. Other technicians double-checked the battle fortress's on-board weapon and targeting systems.  
  
In the conference room, the marathon planning meeting that had evolved from what would have been a peace conference continued. At the moment, Exedore was standing before a large display that had been created with the help of the SDF-1 computers. "We Zentraedi are aware of the primitive reflex cannon buried in your Northern Hemisphere, but we considered it unimportant, at best. Dolza will certainly feel that way as well; since he believes that you have nothing that can stop him, he will divide the Grand Fleet and totally surround the planet, cutting off any hope of escape." Exedore gestured, and the display shifted, showing the appearance of a galaxy of Zentraedi ships blanketing the earth, seemingly thick enough to walk across.  
  
"In doing so, it gives us our one opportunity. With this sort of deployment, Dolza's command asteroid will appear roughly here." A single blip, much larger than the others, drew attention to it by turning red and beginning to blink. "And his fleet flagships will appear here, here, here and here." Four more ships blinked red. "If we can take these ships out, the grand fleet will be thrown into confusion and may even turn upon itself as various factions attempt to claim command."  
  
"In short, we crush the head of the snake!" mused Col. Maistroff aloud. "Simple military strategy."  
  
"Actually, simple military strategy in the use of overwhelming numbers and straightforward attack are what have caused our tactics to stagnate," replied Exedore in a somewhat chilly tone, but it quickly warmed again with a wry humor. "That and the fact that we Zentraedi have never lost a war."  
  
Gloval glowered at the display for several minutes, then sat back in his seat and stoked up his pipe. For once, no one said a word. He drew a deep lungfull before leaning forward again with an observation. "I am concerned about this. Those flagships are too far apart to attack as we move in on the command ship. And if Breetai splits his forces, you will take prohibitive losses."  
  
Muck had been quiet since the return to the conference room, as the battle plan had slowly been hashed out. Now, however, he had something to contribute. "I can," he observed, then looked up to Gloval. "Captain, request permission to activate the Sledgehammers. We can take them out."  
  
Gloval took another long draw from his pipe before replying. "Are you certain they're ready for something like this, Thunders?"  
  
"Hell, they could use another two weeks worth of practice, but that would probably be true no matter when you turned us loose. But being able to compare notes with Minister Exedore about target locations will more than offset that". Gloval nodded, but remained silent.  
  
"What exactly IS this. Sledgehammer?" asked Exedore, jumping into the gap of the conversation.  
  
"A strike plan to take out one or more of your ships using our fighters, Minister," Muck explained.  
  
"So THAT'S what happened to the Meltrani!" Exedore exulted. "I thought it was a coincidence she lost power after your attack on her; I'd never considered that it was because of your attack."  
  
The whistling of the ship's comm cut off Exedore. Gloval touched a button, putting the conversation on speaker. "Captain, this is the bridge. Sensors are reporting high-energy readings between the earth and us. Intel is positive it's the start of the enemy's fold maneuver."  
  
"Thank you, Claudia. I will be up shortly," Gloval sighed, and put out his pipe before closing the connection. "Thunders, Plan Sledgehammer is approved. This meeting is now adjourned. Minister, I don't think we'll have time to return you to your ship; but you are welcome to join me on the bridge."  
  
"Thank you, Captain," Exedore agreed. "However, one last request. Miss Minmei, I now understand the power of your songs. they allowed you micronians to hope even when the odds were against you. Would you sing for us now? To help us hope for victory?"  
  
Minmei nodded and stood.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Max stopped Rick outside their quarters. "It's going to be OK, boss."  
  
Rick just gave his XO a wan smile. "Yeah, sure."  
  
Max shook his head. "You know, if she can still do this to you, imagine what her songs could do to these guys who haven't heard her before," he sighed before ducking into his own quarters to climb into his flight gear, just missing the slight form of Minmei also hurrying towards Rick's quarters.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The pilots of the newly minted "Sledgehammer Squadron" were present and geared up as Muck strode in, still pulling on his last few bits of flight gear. The rumor and speculation that had been passing back and forth died instantly as the pilots realized just what was going on.  
  
"Ok Hammers, LISTEN UP. As of fifteen minutes ago, we are operational," Muck explained. "A vast enemy force just folded into the Sol system between us and earth." He couldn't help but pause before continuing. "They've already bombarded Earth, Gentlemen," the assembled pilots murmured at that, but quickly settled down under Muck's icy glare. "Our mission is going to be to take out four of their flagships and bollix their command and control network. This is our one shot at revenge, possibly even victory. We've got the last 12 supers that came off the line; the ordies are loading them now. We've had to change the weapons mix from the simulations; the ECM pod is back on the centerline. Just no way to work out the CG problems. However you have two ship-killers and a GU-11 under each wing, two HARMS in each arm, and heat seekers for dog fighting in the backpacks. Just like practice, we'll be in 3 ship teams." Muck continued the briefing, his words drowning out the sound of the loaders and elevators lifting the first wave of VT's to the deck above.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The time spent with Exedore had been helpful, but the delay from having to brief his pilots in the changes meant Sledgehammer Squadron was the last to be shot off from Daedalus' catapults. Only the stragglers were left; planes that'd developed minor faults just before launch forcing last minute repairs. By the time the entire squadron was aloft and in formation, a 99-aircraft (All planes aloft) transmission came over the communication links, transmitted by Gloval himself.  
  
"Attention, all fighter planes. Once we enter the zone of engagement, It is imperative that all planes maintain radio silence. We will be transmitting Ms. Minmei's songs on all frequencies, and only her song. It is believed that this will distract the enemy and give us an advantage. We MUST make the most of this element of surprise."  
  
"Cap?"  
  
"You heard him. Once the girl starts, we shut up," Muck supplied, not breaking orders since the transmission hadn't started yet. He spied a lone Super moving up fast on his squad, the markings identifying it as the 00-bird (1) of CAG Rick Hunter. Minmei still hadn't started, so Muck flipped channels. "Skull one, Sledge one. Can you punch us a hole when the party starts?"  
  
"Sledge, Skull. Roger. Button it up, Muck," Rick's voice replied as the planes of Sledgehammer squadron formed up on their CAG. The central comm screen came to life, showing Minmei alone in a cone of light. Behind her the music swelled as she lifted the microphone.  
  
"99 Hammers, hand 'em the heavy end!" Muck snarled as Minmei's voice reached out into the darkness. The 24 planes of Skull and Sledgehammer squadrons surged at the enemy as one, accompanied by Minmei's plaintive call for victory. It seemed to be working, but its effects were clearly not complete. While the enemy ships seemed oblivious to the ships and mecha of the RDF and Zentraedi alliance, large numbers of enemy mecha seemed sufficiently immune and swarmed the approaching formation. Skull reacted like the well-trained team it was, blowing a hole through the enemy line with their missiles then breaking off by elements (2) to hit the enemy formation from the rear.  
  
Sledgehammer's planes fired their thrusters and screamed through this opening before it could close, their speed making pursuit impossible as the squadron split into 3 plane teams and headed for their targets. As they drew away from the immediate vicinity of the SDF-1, enemy fire tapered off dramatically, quickly stopping completely. Many enemy ships hadn't launched any mecha at all, and all the combat effective mecha were concentrating on the SDF-1 and her allies.  
  
The earth hung huge overhead as Muck and his wingmen streaked closer to their target; the lack of enemy fire gave them a long moment to gaze up at the once green planet that was home. Muck winced and forced his eyes back into his cockpit, but they were inevitably drawn back to the devastation writ large overhead. A layer of thick clouds were forming, a result of the portion of the energy barrage that had been directed into Earth's oceans; Between the breaks in those clouds, the overlapping craters of that terrible strike glowed a dull red, bleeding wounds still glowing from the bombardment.  
  
Intellectually, Muck had known this was coming since his acceptance of the fact he was stuck here for a while. coming face to face with the reality of it was worse. Even his knowledge that Earth would be a green verdant world again in time wavered in the face of the devastation hanging above him. It was the trilling of his Navigation system that finally broke the spell, bringing his attention back into the cockpit.  
  
"IP Inbound, boys. As briefed." he warned, finally breaking radio silence. Four clicks came back in reply as the three planes slid into position for the first attack run. The target point Exedore had pointed out was vulnerable, but it would still need more than one attack run to finish the big ship off. Accordingly, Muck had assigned his worst pilot to the first hopefully easiest run with the enemy still distracted; while Muck played wild weasel and took out any AAA defenses that they did manage to bring up.  
  
The sleeping giant that was their target stirred in its sleep, as if sensing the enemy was near. A few radars came up on the rear half of the flagship, probably under control of a Zentraedi officer who didn't have a musical bone in his body. Not that it mattered to Muck. at this point he was thinking only in terms of threats and counters. The jamming pod under the centerline sprang to life, stirring up a response as if jabbing a hornet's nest with a stick. Now the real threat radars appeared, trying to guide in the flagship's self-defense guns and missiles. Muck rode his VT through the change to Guardian mode and the HARM missiles blasted from his forearm launchers to silence the first quartet; sending the enemy fire blind just as Bulldog released his strike weapons and tore across the stern of the ship at the speed of heat. The heavy anti ship weapons plowed into the flagship's armor, leaving several small, vital components exposed.  
  
The giant was awake now, aware of its attackers, but not yet aware of how much danger it really was in. A single squadron of battle-pods launched to counter this minor threat, only to run into a hailstorm of missiles from Bulldog at point blank range. Aft, Muck dove in on the target on what he'd judged was the most dangerous of the attack runs as his wingman flew Wild Weasel cover. Bulldog pulled up and away from their target, loosing his own quartet of anti-radar missiles before falling victim to a blindly fired plasma gun.  
  
"Stay close, Snake." Muck warned. "One pass, all missiles." A grunt was the only reply as the two VT's drove through the hail of fire to the release point, sending their missiles streaking in on the now exposed target points as the two fighters broke 'up' and away. The giant realized the real threat now, as the few remaining radars left the fighters alone and concentrated on the incoming missiles, only to be blotted out seconds later by Snake-eye's aft-launched HARMS. The two fighters streaked away as eight heavy missiles tore into the guts of the engine assemblies. The warheads set of a chain reaction of explosions that slowly moved forward along the length of the great flagship until it reached a magazine of some sort, obliterating it and several other ships in an orgy of mutual distruction.  
  
This got the attention of the other ships in the area; some that tried to break free of the coming disaster, others who tried to fire on the bacterial-like invaders who had done this. By now, though, Muck and Snake- eye were moving far to fast for the guns of the other ships to track as they raced clear of the enemy fleet. Muck heard the voice of Claudia Grant warning all other ships to break off as their recovery vessel, a pod carrier on loan from Breetai's fleet, came into view. As the two VT's transformed to Battleoid mode and boarded the pod, Muck could see the SDF-1 making its final attack dive into the moon that was Dolza's command center. It was about to get very unhealthy to be in space. The two VT's secured themselves to racks designed to hold battle-pods as the recovery pod piled on its best speed for the safety of the dark side of the moon.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
"Come," Rick called in response to the door chime. Muck entered, to Rick's relief. It had been a long five weeks since that climatic battle; five weeks in which Rick had to lead the surviving pilots of the war through the changes from fighting a war to securing a peace. as he adjusted to those same changes himself. At least all his planes were in one place again; up until a week ago half of his survivors had been stuck on the far side of the moon with the remains of Breetai's fleet. Muck Thunders had stayed till the last shuttle flight, organizing that end of the transfer while Max Sterling had worked the RDF end. Muck's presence aboard meant that phase of 'the impossibly long list of thing that just HAVE to have been completed yesterday' was over at least; One down, dozens more to go.  
  
This train of thought was unpleasantly interrupted by Muck dropping a white envelope on his desk, followed by his wings. "Sir, I am formally submitting my resignation, Sir," Muck informed him, rather redundantly. Rick rolled his eyes at this statement before grabbing the envelope, unceremoniously tearing it in two. He dropped the remains in his wastebasket and pushed the wings back across the desk to Muck.  
  
"Request denied, Muck. We still need you here." Now it was Muck's turn to be surprised, gapeing like a fish out of water at this, but picked back up his wings.  
  
"Rather surprising attitude from the original reluctant pilot, Rick."  
  
"That was two years and a lot of fighting ago. Hell, in a very real way that kid was KIA the same time Roy. When I wound up with this job. Besides, didn't you mention that you were stuck because you couldn't replace a part or something?"  
  
"Yup, but I think I found an equivalent replacement."  
  
"Well, FRED beat you to it. Lang's got FRED in his lab, so the two of them are probably already working on the problem. Either way, you're not going anywhere till FREDs fixed, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Good. Here's the problem. Only 20% of our pilots have any experience flying in actual atmosphere; half of them from our re-supply visit a year ago. And only the survivors from Sledge have ANY attack experience," Rick finished in a grim tone.  
  
"You can't be serious, Rick! I lost half my squadron on that attack; I'd expect training new pilots in ground attack is the last thing you'd want me doing."  
  
"You're wrong. I had 'Griff' (3) run us through the attack sim you worked up. Only 3 of US survived, Max, Miriya, and myself; and *WE* weren't able take down ANY of our targets." Rick paused for a moment before continuing, "And in case you didn't notice, we all took 50 percent losses, Muck."  
  
Muck grimaced; he wasn't certain which was worse, that Rick was right, or that he'd forgotten military discipline enough for Rick TO lecture him! Either way. "When do I start, Skipper?"  
  
"Tomorrow. Get the rest of your angst out of your system by then."  
  
"Aye aye, skipper."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Observation lounges aboard the SDF-1 were common, and often the perfect place for private conversations or just deep thought; a fact Muck should have remembered before heading into this particular lounge. That was because not only did he like the view from it, so did most of the senior staff. two of whom were already present and discussing something when he'd arrived. It also did NOT help that he'd been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed them until they'd addressed him! Net result was a mental train wreck; he pulled his gaze from the outside to the inside while his brain furiously attempted a warm-boot. Two pairs of eyes: One brown, one Blue. Short curly brown hair Vs. Long mostly straight light brown hair. Persons identified.  
  
"Urk. Commander, Commander. My apologies, I didn't see you there. Please excuse the interruption; I'll be leaving now."  
  
Muck had rather expected to be blasted into a grease stain on the spot, figuratively speaking. To have Commander Hayes and Lt. Commander Grant break up into laughter over it was not; he must have rolled a metaphoric 20 on a save vs. command's ire. Lt. Commander Grant made an aside comment about sledgehammers to Commander Hayes before addressing him directly.  
  
"That's quite all right, Muck. I was just pointing out certain peculiarities of the male of our species."  
  
"Like our inability to notice things right under our respective noses?"  
  
"Exactly." Muck nodded at this observation, turning his gaze back out the viewport before replying.  
  
"In all fairness to the CAG," he observed, having figured out just what sort of conversation he'd walked in on, "He's still young; I don't think he's realized what love really is yet."  
  
"And you base that on the what you saw in that cartoon show about us," Lisa interjected snippily.  
  
"Nope; I never got to see the end of the series, they canceled it mid- season. The last episode I saw was the attack on Dolza's command ship. I'm operating as much in the dark as you are in that respect. I'm basing this on actual experience and observation."  
  
Now it was Lisa's turn to gaze pensively out the observation window. "I still don't see how I can compete with her."  
  
"Think about it, Commander. He's a pilot, she's a big star. They move in different circles now. At the end of the day he's gonna be back here trying to do his job while she's off basking in people's admiration. I bet you'd find him in his cabin right now, putting off dinner to concentrate on his job just the way you do." Lisa gave Muck a thoroughly unconvinced look. "Go on down there. you'll see I'm right." Lisa gave Muck a final thoughtful look before turning and leaving the observation deck; Claudia waited until the hatch had closed behind Lisa to break into a chuckle.  
  
"You just came from there, didn't you? That's how you know."  
  
"Guilty as charged, Ma'am. I throw myself on the mercies of the court."  
  
Claudia took a turn at gazing out the window. "You remind me a lot of Roy. I wish you could have met him; you two would have gotten along like gangbusters."  
  
"I wish I could have too. I knew a Roy Folkker back in my home dimension; I used to kid him about his destiny. We were both pilots in the Gulf War; we were flying a mission together when he got shot down and killed." (4)  
  
There was something about this last statement that had caused Claudia to fixate him with a strange look for a moment before she turned back to the wide expanse of the window. "What happened to bring you up here?"  
  
"Rick gave me a new assignment and told me to loose my angst over my losses."  
  
"I see." Claudia mused, and the room fell silent for a timeless moment, filled only by the golden glow of a setting sun, before she spoke again. "Have you had dinner yet, Captain?"  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
"I'd like you to join me for dinner. There are some things I'd like to show you."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Three months after the end of the war, Captain Henry Gloval formally dedicated the RDF's Roy Folkker memorial airbase, generating another press event. While not the over the top blowout that the marriage of Max and Miriya Sterling had been, it was enough to attract the attention of the still rebuilding Macross City; something a very small and select group of people were counting on. Their absence from the main event was noted, but believed to be duty related. The press was almost right on that account.  
  
Said group consisted of Captain-select Lisa Hayes, the newly designated commander of the SDF-2, the keel of which had just been laid down a week previous. Commanders Rick Hunter and Claudia Grant, Lt. Commanders Max and Miriya Sterling of Skull Squadron; and 3 enlisted persons, Elsa Bibat, Adam Jury and John Bailesu. They had gathered at the other end of Folkker airbase to say good-bye to a departing Muck Thunders, the location chosen to avoid the press.  
  
"Max, Miriya; you two take care. And congratulations on your daughter," Muck observed; setting a convoluted gag in place that wouldn't pay off for another month, when the Sterlings found out Miriya had, in fact, conceived the night before Muck left; and would, in fact, give birth to a daughter 9 months later to the day.  
  
Rick and Lisa were next as they received a sharp salute as Muck formally resigned his RDF commission. The fact that Muck was defiantly NOT in uniform and was wearing a rather loud Hawaiian print shirt over a pair of jeans lent an air of comedy to the act. That he'd somehow slipped a pair of 'Groucho glasses' on while no one was looking didn't help either. The pair somehow managed to avoid laughing as they returned his salute and accepted his resignation.  
  
That left Claudia Grant; Muck removed the gag glasses and gave her a deep hug. "You take care of yourself now," he advised her in a voice full of friendship, "You'll be with him again when the time is right."  
  
Claudia wiped a tear from her eye and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I know," she whispered softly. "It's just so hard, though." Muck nodded at that and gave her another hug. Finally, though, she straightened up and motioned the three enlisted that Muck had already said goodbye too over. "Before you go, though, I want to give these too you." Muck was then presented with 3 of the storage containers that were normally kept in the back of his vehicle FRED.  
  
"Aren't these Roy's?" Muck asked, examining the contents as he stowed the containers.  
  
"Yes. but I want you to have them. Roy would have wanted you to have them if he'd known you. and their memory is just too painful for me to keep them around," Claudia admitted with a wan smile. Muck simply accepted this with a nod of his head. As he walked around to Fred's driver side door, though, Lisa had one final surprise.  
  
"Detail, Attention!" She snapped, and everyone did.  
  
"Bronx, Salute!" came next, and the small group gave Muck the Hairy eye in unison, causing Muck to break out laughing. With a final wave, he and Fred accelerated down the deserted Taxiway, and vanished in a flash of light.  
  
------  
  
1) Naval tradition reserves one plane from the wing strictly for the CAG's use. This plane's number always ends in 00. Technically, every squadron should have a 00 bird reserved for the CAG, but this was one of the first casualties of the ongoing losses of the first Robotech war. 2) Naval squadrons are organized into 2 plane elements. 2 elements form a flight of 4, and 3 flights of 4 are a squadron. A traditional air group has 2 fighter squadrons, 2 attack squadrons, and other associated elements such as Early Warning, Electronic Warfare, SAR choppers, and ASW aircraft, and is the largest official naval aviation unit. As you can guess, the SDF-1 by this time has only VT fighter squadrons and only a few remaining Cats-eyes for Electronic Warfare/Early warning work. 3) SSGT Ben 'Griff' Hutchins appears briefly at the end of TotW 2-5. 4) I also refer you back to TotW 2-2 and 2-3. In an interesting twist of fate it just so happens that the Roy Muck knew at home died the same day as the Muck Thunders Roy knew. Another interesting bit of symmetry that I was never able to work into the story proper.  
  
Well, it's the end of another book of this. Some thank-yous are in order, of course. SkyFire@aol and the others who provided much needed C&C, you've provided invaluable assistance in seeing around my personal blind spots, especially about punctuation. Elsa Bibat and the others who lent their names to the characters in my head.  
  
Ah, yes. Character names. I have to confess, for some reason I didn't come up with a single name of my own this time. EVERY single 'named' character had their name borrowed from somewhere else. I suppose if you're ever really bored you could re-read it and try and figure out just who came from were. You might even be right too. I have a very wide range of tastes and a warped sense of humor. 


End file.
